Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired yet another piece of plastic detritus, this one from a brand called "Baby Einstein," a name I find deeply patronizing. It appears to be a low-slung panel of large, colorful buttons designed to be prodded by a less-coordinated lifeform. The promise of glowing lights and sounds is, I admit, a baseline requirement for any object seeking to earn my attention. However, its stated purpose is for "tummy time," an undignified activity I have long since perfected into the art of "floor lounging." The inclusion of classical melodies is a point in its favor, though I suspect the audio quality will be tinny. The animal sounds are likely an insult to my kind. It may offer a moment's distraction if a particularly satisfying button-press-to-light-flash ratio is discovered, but it is more likely to become just another obstacle on my patrol route to the food bowl.
Key Features
- Montessori-inspired interactive toy features large buttons with colorful glowing lights, classical melodies, and animal sounds; for tummy time or seated floor play; 3 months and up
- Benefits include helping them develop fine motor skills and learn cause and effect; eye-catching lights and engaging sounds motivate baby to lift head during tummy time
- 3 play modes and 3 languages: Set it to English, Spanish, or French; Xylophone Mode helps baby create a song; Animal Mode teaches animal names and sounds; Color Mode teaches 6 color names
- Prop up with the locking kickstand or collapse flat for play, storage, or travel
- 3 AA batteries are included for demo, use new batteries for regular use; 8.94"H x 12.6"W x 5.94"L
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived not in a box—my preferred vessel of entertainment—but in a cage of plastic and cardboard. My human, whom I shall refer to as The Curator for the purposes of this narrative, placed it on the living room rug with an air of unearned ceremony. I observed from my perch on the velvet armchair, tail giving a slow, critical flick. It was a garish object, a rainbow arch that screamed of cheap plastic and developmental platitudes. This was not a sophisticated piece for a connoisseur like myself; this was the artistic equivalent of a scream. I felt an artist’s revulsion. The Curator, oblivious to my aesthetic critique, pressed a button. A shrill, synthesized version of a Vivaldi piece I occasionally enjoy during my afternoon grooming sessions assaulted my ears. Simultaneously, the panel flashed a violent green. It was a multi-sensory insult. She cycled through its "features." It declared colors in three languages, a parlor trick for which I have no use, as I operate in a far more nuanced spectrum of "edible" and "not edible." Then came the animal sounds. The duck was passable. The dog was a caricature. The cow sounded as if it were in significant emotional distress. I flattened my ears, not in fear, but in profound disappointment. This was not an instrument; it was a cacophony machine. My disdain must have been palpable. The Curator sighed and left it, propped up on its little kickstand like a bizarre, miniature billboard advertising bad taste. Silence returned. For a long while, I simply stared at the dormant object. The silence it now projected was, in itself, a form of art. But I am a cat of action, a creature of cause and effect. I descended from my chair and approached it, my movements liquid and deliberate. I was not going to play. I was going to conduct an inquiry. I extended a single, perfect paw, claws sheathed, and gave the large, blue button a firm *tap*. A single, clear, bell-like tone rang out, accompanied by a soft, pulsing blue light. There was no chaotic music, no offensive moo. Just a note. I paused, processing. I tapped the yellow button. A different, higher note, and a yellow glow. I had misjudged. This was not merely a machine of noise; in the right paws, it was a canvas. I began my composition. A slow, deliberate piece titled *Lament for an Empty Food Bowl in D Minor*. Tap. Blue light. Tap. Red light. A flurry of paws across the panel, creating a chaotic, atonal crescendo that spoke of my deep, existential boredom. The Curator looked over, smiling. She thought I was playing. Fool. I was protesting. And for that purpose, this crude instrument would have to do.
