Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a fit of what I can only describe as developmental confusion, has presented me with a sack of oversized, garishly colored plastic chunks. The label suggests they are "Building Blocks" for a creature known as a "toddler," and that they are derived from sugarcane, a fact I find both bizarre and unappetizing. The intended purpose seems to be stacking them into primitive, unstable towers, an activity with insultingly low intellectual demand. However, I must concede two points of interest. First, the sheer quantity—sixty of them—offers significant potential for widespread, chaotic distribution across the hardwood floors. Second, the crinkly, reusable bag they arrived in is, by itself, a far more promising object for investigation and future naps. The blocks are likely a waste of time, but the collateral play opportunities might just be worth a flick of my tail.
Key Features
- Building set comes with 60 big building blocks, made from a minimum of 90% plant-based plastic composed of materials extracted from sugarcane
- Building set arrives with the blocks loosely packed in the packaging
- Includes 1 reusable bag for easy cleanup and storage
- Blocks are compatible with all MEGA BLOKS building toys for endless learning fun
- Ideal for ages 1+ and endorsed by Fisher-Price, these blocks help to develop fine motor skills, creativity and imagination
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Tall One unzipped the bag with a theatrical flair, spilling the contents onto the rug like a vulgar rainbow of failure. They clattered with a hollow, unsatisfying sound. She picked up two blue pieces and clicked them together. Then a yellow one. She was *building*. An upright structure, a crude imitation of the dreadful towers she and her mate inhabit, was beginning to rise in my living room. This, I knew, was an act of architectural aggression. An affront to the elegant, horizontal lines of my napping spaces. It could not be allowed to stand. I remained still on my ottoman, observing from a tactical vantage point. My tail gave a slow, metronomic twitch. The Tall One, oblivious to the storm gathering in my formidable feline mind, added a red block to the pinnacle of her creation. It stood nearly a foot high, a monument to her simple-minded hubris. She looked at it, then at me, a proud, foolish grin on her face. "Look, Pete! A castle!" A castle? It was an eyesore. A vertical offense. I did not rush. A true master of demolition is patient. I descended from the ottoman with the deliberate grace of a panther, my paws making no sound on the rug. I circled the "castle" once, sniffing its sugarcane-based foundation with disdain. It smelled faintly sweet, a cloying and unnatural odor. I selected my point of attack: a foundational blue block at the rear corner. I did not swat wildly. I extended a single, perfect white paw, my claws carefully retracted, and applied precise, steady pressure. The tower held for a moment, then shuddered. With a final, firm push, the cornerstone gave way. The resulting cacophony of plastic failure was magnificent. The tower collapsed in on itself, blocks scattering in every direction, skittering across the floor and under the sofa. The Tall One sighed, the sound of a defeated architect. I looked at the beautiful, randomized field of debris I had created. This was their true purpose. They weren't building blocks; they were un-building blocks. Instruments of glorious, controlled chaos. I gave a single, stray green block a satisfying bat, sending it careening into a table leg. Yes. These would do just fine.
