Pete's Expert Summary
My human has, with a distinct lack of taste, assembled what appears to be a training ground for the small, loud creature they insist on keeping. This 'Glow and Grow Kick & Play Piano Gym' from Fisher-Price is a chaotic explosion of color and noise. While the soft, machine-washable mat presents a viable, albeit low-to-the-ground, napping surface, and the dangling crinkle toy and jingle ball might offer a moment's distraction between snoozes, the overall concept is deeply flawed. The light-up piano, with its barrage of educational songs, is an auditory assault designed for clumsy foot-kicking. It’s an utter waste of electricity and a profound misunderstanding of what constitutes quality entertainment.
Key Features
- Newborn baby gym with 4 ways to play as baby grows, plus music, lights & learning fun
- Smart Stages learning levels with 85+ songs, sounds and phrases that help teach animals, colors, numbers and shapes
- Removeable piano has 5 multi-colored light-up keys, 4 musical settings with freestyle piano play & the popular purple monkey “Maybe” song
- High contrast arch with 10 repositionable linkable toys: 1 jingle ball, 1 butterfly teether, 1 crinkle toy, 1 self-discovery mirror and 6 colorful shape links
- Soft, machine-washable playmat features loops to attach toys
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The prophecy had come to pass. For weeks, I had overheard the humans whispering of a "gym" and "tummy time," and I had assumed, with my usual magnanimity, that they were finally investing in my physical prowess. I envisioned a sleek, minimalist structure for advanced leaping and stretching. Instead, they constructed this… this carnival of horrors in the middle of my living room. It was an arch of lurid plastic, from which hung a collection of pathetic baubles. I observed from the arm of the couch, my gray fur bristling with judgment, as the human arranged it all, cooing about its "developmental activities." Developmental? It looked like it would cause a developmental regression in anything more sophisticated than a garden slug. When the room was finally mine again, I began my infiltration. The mission: to determine the exact nature of the threat. Phase one was tactile analysis. I ghosted across the floor and placed a tentative paw on the mat. Surprisingly plush. The cartoonish animals printed upon it stared up with vacant eyes, but the fabric itself was soft, almost worthy of my presence. I gave it a few good test biscuits, kneading my paws to confirm its nap potential. Satisfactory. I then directed my attention to the dangling armaments. A jingle ball, primitive but effective. A crinkle toy, its sound a cheap imitation of a captured beetle. A mirror, which provided a welcome opportunity to confirm that my tuxedo markings were, as always, immaculate. The analog elements were crude, but functional. My mistake was underestimating the enemy's capacity for sonic warfare. As I stretched to get a better angle of my handsome reflection, a hind paw strayed. It landed squarely on a large, colorful key. The world ended. A flash of light erupted, followed by a synthetic, horrifyingly cheerful melody about a purple monkey. The sound was an abomination, a perversion of music. Each key I had inadvertently pressed unleashed a new wave of auditory torment—numbers, colors, animal sounds—an educational blitzkrieg for which I was not prepared. This wasn't a toy; it was an interrogation device. I recoiled as if electrocuted, my fur puffed to twice its normal size, and shot under the nearest end table. From this dark sanctuary, I watched the plastic monstrosity, which had now fallen silent, daring it to sing about that monkey again. The verdict was clear. While Fisher-Price had succeeded in creating a serviceable napping mat, they had surrounded it with a fortress of clamor and light. The mat is salvageable, but the "piano" is a war crime. It must be disabled, for the peace of the realm and the preservation of my sanity.
