Pete's Expert Summary
So, my Human has dragged in a gaudy, three-story plastic tower from the makers of those unnervingly cheerful dolls. They call it a 'DreamHouse,' and I suppose for a simple-minded creature, it might be. It purports to be a pet palace, featuring a 'pet elevator'—which I will of course be commandeering for my own vertical ascensions—and countless tiny objects perfect for batting into oblivion. However, its 'dream' features include a slide that deposits one directly into a water basin, a concept so horrifying it must have been designed by a dog, and it comes with a pre-installed plastic puppy, an effigy to my mortal enemy. While the sheer number of new napping ledges is tempting, the entire enterprise reeks of engineered fun and a profound misunderstanding of what a superior being *truly* wants.
Key Features
- Welcome to the Barbie Dreamhouse, where 360-degree play inspires endless fun! This updated version of the iconic doll house features an open design, premium features and 75+ storytelling pieces.
- Barbie can host the pool party of her dreams with her home’s spectacular three-story spiral slide. Watch as Barbie doll and her friends swirl down the slide into the pool! Dolls not included.
- This doll house doubles as a veritable pet palace, and even includes a puppy figure! Furry friends will have a blast with the pet elevator, pet slide and pool, pet bed, doggie door and pet house.
- Right from the start, kids can spend hours exploring ten different play areas: a kitchen, living room, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, closet, bonus room, balcony, pool and the biggest slide yet.
- The pool party can turn into a slumber party with space to sleep four dolls! The living room console transforms into the ultimate sleepover spot with a starry backdrop and an extra bed for two.
- Dreamy features include integrated lights and sounds in the kitchen and bathroom, fun furniture -- including an extra pull-out bed in the bedroom -- and a top-floor balcony with a palm tree.
- Bring detail to playtime with 75+ storytelling pieces, a working elevator that is wheelchair-accessible, an adorable swing, fabulous closet and more.
- When kids ages 3 years old and up “step inside” the Barbie Dreamhouse playset, they’ll never run out of stories to tell!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It appeared after a great deal of human rustling and exclamations of what I can only assume was profound joy. A monolith of pink plastic rose in the living room, a silent, multi-leveled intruder in my domain. My Human called it a gift, but I knew better. This was a test. From my observation post atop the bookshelf, I cataloged its defenses: strange, sizzling sounds emanated from a lower chamber without the accompanying scent of tuna, and a sudden, disembodied flushing noise echoed from an upper room. Psychological warfare, clearly. The most egregious feature was a small, frozen effigy of a canine, placed near a tiny pet door as if it were some sort of welcome party. I would not be fooled. My infiltration began under the cover of the Human's distraction with a "snack." I approached the structure, a silent gray agent on a mission of reconnaissance. I discovered a small, open-topped box on a pulley system—the so-called "pet elevator." With a hesitant paw, I tested its sturdiness. It held. I stepped inside, and with a gentle nudge from the Human's interfering hand, I began my ascent. The world of the living room unfolded below me as I rose past the kitchen, the living area, and the bedroom. I felt a flicker of something akin to triumph. This vertical transport was… acceptable. I disembarked on the top floor, a master of all I surveyed. From this new vantage point, I plotted my next move: neutralizing the canine threat. I descended via the stairs—the slide was an obvious, undignified trap leading to a blue plastic pit of despair. I stalked the ground floor until I was face-to-face with the enemy. It was smaller than I anticipated, with a vacant, painted-on smile. I extended a paw, claws sheathed, and gave it a firm shove. It tipped over with a pathetic, hollow *clink*. So, not an adversary, but a mere statue. An insult to my intelligence. My mission was a failure, but the war was won. The monolith was not a fortress, but a resource. The tiny beds were surprisingly comfortable, the miniature couch was the perfect size for a contemplative curl, and the 75-plus accessories were a veritable treasure trove of items to be systematically "lost" under the real furniture over the next several weeks. I returned to the elevator, claimed the top-floor balcony as my personal throne room, and settled in. The DreamHouse was ridiculous, ostentatious, and fundamentally flawed. It was also, I decided as I began a deep and satisfying purr, mine.
