Pete's Expert Summary
It appears my human has procured yet another large, garishly colored plastic edifice for the smaller, louder human. This one purports to be a "restaurant," a concept I understand involves begging for food until it is delivered. The device uses a lever and stamping mechanism to press foul-smelling, brightly colored putty into facsimiles of human cuisine—burgers, pizza, and other things that are decidedly not tuna. The moving parts, specifically the griddle that slides automatically, hold a flicker of potential for supervised amusement. However, the ultimate product is a collection of inedible, scentless lumps. It is an exercise in futility, a monument to the human capacity for creating things that are almost, but not quite, interesting. A significant waste of what could be prime sunbeam-napping real estate.
Key Features
- 2-SIDED RESTAURANT KITCHEN PLAYSET: Aspiring chefs can feel like they're running their own restaurant with this play kitchen set for kids! Create, customize, and share amazing Play-Doh food creations
- STAMP 2 PRETEND FOODS AT A TIME: Attach 2 stampers and press the lever to stamp pretend burgers, pizza, chicken, or spaghetti! Let go, and the griddle automatically slides over to the prep station!
- DECORATE AND SHARE: Use half-molds on both sides of the playset to create pretend toppings and sides, then put creations on the plate and pass through the window to share with friends!
- PLAY KITCHEN ACCESSORIES: Use the spatula to put pretend desserts in the oven, and set up the menu board to complete the pretend play kitchen experience
- 5 PLAY-DOH COLORS: This tabletop play food set includes 2-ounce cans of red, yellow, green, blue, and brown Play-Doh compound. Contains wheat
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The silence of the mid-afternoon—that sacred time between the mail carrier's intrusion and the human's return from errands—was shattered. It was a rhythmic, mechanical sound. *Whump... shhhh-click.* I lifted my head from the velvet cushion, one gray ear swiveling like a radar dish. The small human was the source, hunched over the new plastic monstrosity. She would pull a great lever (*Whump*), and a small platform would slide sideways with a whisper (*shhhh-click*). She was merely the operator, a fleshy cog in a greater machine. The machine itself, I deduced, was the true entity. It was communicating. When the small human inevitably grew bored and wandered off to stick her fingers in a potted plant, I seized my opportunity. I slinked from my perch, my white-tipped paws silent on the hardwood floor. The device loomed before me, a cacophony of primary colors. Remnants of the strange putty—a brown circle meant to be a "burger," a red smear of "ketchup"—littered its surface. I ignored this detritus. I was interested in the soul, the ghost in this plastic shell. I leapt onto the counter, my face level with the lever. I looked into the small, molded oven door, trying to see past my own handsome reflection into its mechanical heart. With the careful precision of a brain surgeon, I extended a single, sheathed claw and tapped the lever. It did not move. A more forceful pat produced a slight wobble. This was not a conversation of equals; this required effort. I put my weight into it, pushing the lever down. *Whump.* But with no putty loaded, the sound was hollow, empty. The griddle, however, still performed its duty. *Shhhh-click.* It slid over, presenting its empty surface to me. It was an invitation. A question. I answered with a low, interrogative trill, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet kitchen. I was on the verge of a breakthrough, a true dialogue with an inanimate object that was clearly more intelligent than the humans who owned it. My experiment was cut short by the return of my primary human. "Pete! What are you doing up there, you silly boy?" she cooed, scooping me from my laboratory. She failed to grasp the significance of my work, the conversation I was having. She saw a cat on a counter; I saw a pioneer of inter-object communication. As she carried me away, I looked back over her shoulder. The machine sat silent, its secrets safe for now. Worthy? Oh, absolutely. Not as a toy, but as a puzzle, a mystery to be solved. I will crack its code, I vowed. Once the simple-minded organics are asleep.
