Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what they call a "Sassy Sushi Sorter." It is, in essence, a plastic bento box containing six brightly colored, squishy facsimiles of sushi, each with a different shape and texture. The premise, as far as I can deduce from the human's babbling, is for a lesser being—a "baby," I believe they're called—to place the correct shape into the corresponding hole in the lid. A truly tedious endeavor. However, the pieces themselves are soft, textured, and eminently portable. While the "sorting" aspect is an intellectual wasteland, the potential for batting these fraudulent fish across the floor, or perhaps absconding with the tamago-shaped one to my lair beneath the armchair, shows some promise. It may not be a complete waste of my waking hours.
Key Features
- 6 sushi in different shapes can be sorted in it’s box
- The sushi pieces are color coded to match the lid’s shape color
- Textures on tops or sides add tactile variety for baby to explore
- Sushi’s are soft and squishy for baby to mouth, explore, and grasp
- Classic play pattern in a fun sushi theme
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The air in the living room, usually thick with the scent of my human's lavender-scented anxiety, suddenly shifted. A new aroma wafted from the cardboard box they were clumsily opening: the sterile, promising scent of new plastic. My interest was piqued. From my perch on the velvet chaise, I watched as they extracted a small, tray-like object. "Sushi," the human cooed, placing it on the rug. Sushi? My whiskers twitched. I have seen the images on the glowing rectangle they stare at for hours. I have smelled the faint, tantalizing aroma of the real thing when they return from their mysterious "outings." Had they finally decided to treat me to the delicacy I so richly deserve? I padded silently across the floor, my gray paws making no sound on the Persian rug. The offering was a grotesque parody. The colors were offensively bright, the shapes cartoonish. There was no glistening tuna, no delicate roe, only molded, rubbery mockery. It was an insult to my intelligence and my palate. I sniffed at a yellow, rectangular piece, wrinkling my nose at the lack of any discernible fishy note. I was about to turn my tail to this whole pathetic affair, to deliver the ultimate snub, when the human did something unexpected. They poked it. It squeaked. My cynicism warred with a primal instinct I could not suppress. A squeak? Prey squeaks. The human, sensing my hesitation, picked up the green, circular piece and rolled it. It didn't roll true. It wobbled, its path erratic and unpredictable, a wounded creature fleeing a superior predator. The hunt was on. I flattened myself to the floor, my tail lashing once, twice, before I launched myself forward. My paws connected with the soft, yielding surface, my claws sinking in just enough for a satisfying purchase. It was not flesh and bone, but it was a worthy substitute. I spent the next hour in a state of glorious havoc. Each piece of "sushi" was systematically hunted, captured, and subjected to a flurry of bunny-kicks. The orange piece with the bumpy texture was particularly satisfying to gnaw upon. The box itself, once emptied of its quarry, became a fortress from which I could launch surprise attacks. This "Sassy Sushi" was not the epicurean delight I had hoped for, but it was a masterclass in tactical simulation. It is a worthy toy, not for its intended purpose, which is clearly for the simple-minded, but for its outstanding performance as a battalion of silent, resilient, and endlessly chaseable foes.
