A Review · From:
Knight Liberated; Storage Vault Earmarked for Treasures
Pete defeats the magnets through sheer will, pockets the freed knight as a prize, and designates the felt-lined storage box as a personal treasure vault.
My human seems to think this flat, folding box is a "toy," but from my vantage point, it's clearly a containment unit for thirty-four small, statuesque figures. They call it a "Travel Chess Set," which is amusing. The key feature appears to be that the little pieces are "magnetic," which suggests a frustrating resistance to being swatted onto the floor—a challenge I might accept, time permitting. The board itself is far too small and checkered for a quality nap. However, the promise of a felt-lined storage compartment *inside* the box is intriguing. It could be a prime location for stashing a particularly fine feather or a stolen milk jug ring. The pieces themselves are a potential diversion, but only if they prove worthy of being hunted.
The human placed the object on the rug with a soft *thud*. It was a square of wood-patterned plastic, offensively mundane. I observed from my throne on the velvet armchair, giving a single, dismissive tail-flick. Another inferior offering, no doubt. I had half a mind to return to my nap when the human unlatched it. A soft *click* echoed in the quiet room, and the square unfolded, revealing a checkered battlefield and, more importantly, two felt-lined cavities filled with neatly arranged black and white shapes. My interest, previously dormant, stirred.
I deigned to descend from my chair, my paws making no sound on the floor. The air of silent judgment is a skill I have perfected. I circled the board once, sniffing. Plastic, a hint of whatever cheap adhesive they used, and the faint, metallic tang of the magnets. I extended a single, perfect white paw and tentatively prodded a small, round-headed piece—a "pawn," I believe they're called. Instead of skittering away with a satisfying clatter, it wobbled and then *thunked* back into place. Astonishing. I tried again, this time with more force, hooking a claw ever so slightly. The piece resisted, then slid a few squares before the magnetic pull caught it again. This was no simple bottle cap; this was an adversary.
My cynicism began to melt away, replaced by a strategist's focus. I ignored the human's quiet chuckle. This was between me and the smug-looking piece with the cross on its head. The "King." He stood there, all high and mighty. A swift, calculated strike sent a nearby Knight flying off the board entirely, its magnetic bond finally broken by superior force. It slid beautifully across the hardwood, a perfect Grade-A skitter. Victory. I pinned it with a paw, claiming my prize. The board itself was a fine arena for these preliminary skirmishes, and the human could have the boring part of putting the pieces back. My final verdict? The toy is acceptable. The pieces provide a delightful challenge, the board serves as a launchpad, and once I've liberated all the occupants, the storage box will make a truly exquisite vault for my personal treasures.
Exhibit A — the specimen
Pete's Verdict
★★★☆☆
Acceptable — and the box is mine.
Filed under: