Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has presented me with this... plastic slate. It's from a brand called "Cra-Z-Art," which sounds less like a purveyor of fine goods and more like a warning label. It's a 'Magna Doodle,' a flat surface with a pen tethered to it like some sort of prisoner, along with two cheap-looking shape doodads. The alleged "fun" is to scribble gray dust onto a gray background and then wipe it away with a sliding bar. Frankly, the most stimulating feature is the string on the pen, which might offer a few seconds of mild amusement before I remember there's a sunbeam in the other room that requires my immediate supervision. The board itself is a potential napping platform, but its artistic value is, to put it mildly, nonexistent. It's for small, sticky-fingered humans, and I suspect its primary purpose in my life will be to get in the way of my path to the food bowl.
Key Features
- Retro Magna Doodle is the ultimate magnetic drawing toy for creating fun artwork that erases like magic!
- Use the Magna Doodle board to draw pictures, write messages, play games, practice letters and numbers, and inspire imaginations
- Each Magna Doodle comes with a drawing board, a magic pen and 2 stamps
- Magna Doodle is lightweight, is great for traveling and keeping children entertained!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The red plastic rectangle appeared on the living room rug with no ceremony, an offense in itself. My human, a creature of simple tastes, was scribbling on its drab gray face with the attached stylus. I observed from my post atop the armchair, feigning disinterest by vigorously washing a paw. They drew a caricature—two triangles for ears, whiskers, a tail. A crude effigy of my magnificent self. I was not amused. They slid the bar at the bottom, and with a soft *shhhhhk*, the insult was wiped from existence. Good. Later that evening, a chill draft slithered in from under the door. A paranormal event? Or just the house settling? I padded silently into the den, my paws making no sound on the hardwood. There it was again, the Magna Doodle, left on the floor. But something was different. Under the pale moonlight filtering through the window, faint, shimmering lines were visible on its surface. Not the thick, dark marks the human had made, but delicate, silvery script, like snail trails of starlight. I crept closer, my heart a tiny, thumping drum against my ribs. It was a message, but not from my human. The words were in a language I understood not with my mind, but with my very fur. It was an invitation from the spirits of the house—the ghost of the squeaky mouse toy lost under the sofa ages ago, the spectral presence of the last can of tuna, the lingering scent of catnip past. They were calling a convocation, and this board was their ethereal parchment. I nudged the star-shaped stamp with my nose, pressing it gently to the surface. It left a dark, five-pointed mark—my reply. *I will attend.* I was about to add a second stamp as a sign of my high rank when the human stumbled into the room for a glass of water, flicking on the light. In the sudden glare, the ghostly writing vanished. They saw my star, chuckled, and with a lazy swipe of their foot, slid the eraser bar. My acceptance, my connection to the other side—erased. This object wasn't a toy. It was a portal, a fickle and treacherous bridge between worlds, and I, Pete, was now its sole, secret keeper.