Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in her infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured a large, garishly colored disc with numbers and two plastic pointers. It is, I'm told, a "Learning Clock," an instrument to teach the less-gifted species how to track the sun's movement across the sky, something I do instinctively to find the best napping spots. Its primary-colored hands are apparently linked by a hidden mechanism, which is the only feature that piques my interest. The large blue pointer, which I suppose is a tempting enough wand, can be moved, and the red one follows. While the "educational" aspect is a complete bore, the potential for mechanical manipulation might offer a moment's distraction if it proves suitably responsive to a well-aimed paw. Otherwise, it's just another piece of plastic cluttering up my kingdom.
Key Features
- JUDY CLOCK: Hidden gear mechanism automatically advances the hour hand when the minute hand is manually manipulated
- CLOCK FOR LEARNING: Help students learn to tell time with this easy-to-read 12-hour clock
- MOVEABLE MINUTE HAND: Minute hand can be moved in 1-minute increments
- GUIDE INCLUDED: Includes removable stand, and activity guide
- GIVE THE GIFT OF LEARNING: Whether you’re shopping for holidays, birthdays, or just because, toys from Learning Resources help you discover new learning fun every time you give a gift! Ideal gift for Halloween, Christmas, Stocking Stuffers, Easter Baskets or even for Homeschool.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived on a Tuesday, a day already fraught with the existential dread of the vacuum cleaner's eventual emergence. The human called it a "Judy Clock," which I found insulting. I am Pete. I have no interest in the affairs of this Judy. She placed the contraption on the floor, propped up on a flimsy black stand, and demonstrated its single, perplexing trick. She would push the long blue arm, and with a series of soft, internal clicks, the short red arm would creep forward. She did this several times, pointing the arms at the number six and declaring, "This is dinner time, Pete!" before serving my meal. A fascinating, if flawed, correlation. I waited until the house fell into the deep silence of 3 a.m., my preferred hour for scientific inquiry. I approached the disc. It was an altar to a false god, Time, and my human was its witless priestess. If she could summon dinner by pointing these plastic appendages at a number, then surely a being of my superior intellect could do the same, and on my own schedule. I would not be a slave to her arbitrary "6." I envisioned a world where dinner was at 4, and 5, and then 5:30. A glorious future. With the careful precision of a diamond cutter, I used my nose to nudge the blue arm. *Click*. It moved. The red arm twitched. I batted the blue arm again, sending it spinning around the dial. It was liberating. I was no longer observing time; I was commanding it. I spun it past the 12, the 3, the 6, a blur of blue ambition. I settled the arms near the 7, a respectable time for a second, post-midnight dinner. Then, I sat back on my haunches, puffed out my white chest, and waited for the universe to obey my command. Of course, no food appeared. The kibble dish remained a desolate ceramic wasteland. The machine had lied. It was not a control panel for reality, but a hollow mockery. The clicks were not the gears of destiny, but the cheap groans of plastic on plastic. My disappointment was a vast, empty chasm. I gave the clock a final, disgusted shove. It toppled over with a pathetic clatter, its little black stand flying free. The stand, I will admit, skittered beautifully across the hardwood floor. The clock itself is a fraud, a monument to failed ambition. The stand, however... the stand may be worthy of further investigation. Under the sofa, perhaps.
