My human seems to think my opinion is required on this... thing. From what I can gather, it's a "Dynacraft Everest BMX Bike," which appears to be a large, two-wheeled transportation device for the smaller, more chaotic humans. It is constructed of steel, which means I cannot easily knock it over in a fit of pique, and it's painted in a gaudy purple and white scheme that might, at best, provide a decent surface for me to admire my own reflection. Its most, and frankly *only*, intriguing features are the two small metal pegs sticking out from the front wheel. These might serve as a passable batting toy or a highly precarious perch. Otherwise, this contraption is far too large, has no soft surfaces, and seems designed to take up valuable sunbeam real estate, making it an almost complete waste of my napping time.
The box it arrived in was, I admit, of superior quality. Sturdy, spacious, and smelling faintly of a Chinese factory and adventure. I had claimed it for a solid hour before the Human, with her usual lack of respect for my property, tore it open. From the cardboard carcass, she extracted a metallic beast. It stood awkwardly on two thin, black rubber hoops, gleaming an offensive shade of purple under the living room lights. It was, she chirped, a bicycle for her niece. I watched from my throne on the back of the sofa, tail twitching in irritation. It was an affront to good taste and proper use of floor space.
Later, after the cooing had subsided, the beast was left unattended in the hallway. My curiosity, a trait I prefer to call 'due diligence,' compelled me to investigate. I leaped silently from the sofa, my paws making no sound on the hardwood floor. Up close, it was even more absurd. The seat was a slick, uncomfortable-looking wedge. The handlebars were too high for a proper chin rub. I sniffed a pedal. Plastic. Pathetic. I was about to dismiss it entirely and return to my scheduled nap when my eye caught something.
Protruding from the hub of the front wheel were two small, metal cylinders. The pegs. I circled the wheel, my gray tuxedo a stark, sophisticated contrast to the bike's garish frame. What was their purpose? I extended a soft, white paw and gave one a tentative tap. It made a dull, metallic *clink*. I tapped it again, a little harder. *Clink. Clack.* I narrowed my eyes. This was... moderately stimulating. I gave it a series of rapid-fire pats. *Clink-clank-clink-clack.* It was no feather wand, certainly no laser dot, but it had a certain rhythmic potential.
Just as I was contemplating the physics of how to make it spin, the small human arrived to claim her prize. She wheeled it away with a great whirring and clicking of gears, the brief, percussive concert coming to an end. My final verdict was swift and unwavering. The bicycle, as a whole, is a monstrous waste of atoms. It is noisy, hard, and utterly without merit. The pegs, however... the pegs showed a sliver of thoughtful design. They are a passable, if uninspired, distraction. Should they ever attach a string and a bell to one, I might be convinced to grant it a second audience. Until then, it is unworthy of my notice.
