Pete's Expert Summary
My staff has acquired yet another peculiar handheld device, this one a 'Simon Micro Series.' From my observations, it's a primitive memory test for the vertically-inclined, involving a frantic sequence of flashing lights and irritating beeps. While the blinking colors might momentarily catch my eye between naps, the true appeal lies in its compact, eminently bat-able form factor. It seems designed less for sophisticated feline play and more to occupy the humans so I can finally claim the good spot on the sofa. A potentially useful distraction, but hardly a revolutionary addition to my kingdom.
Key Features
- COMPACT SIMON GAME UNIT: It's the popular electronic Simon game in a smaller, compact size. It gives players the full gaming experience with all the lights and sounds of the larger size
- CLASSIC SIMON GAMEPLAY: Watch, Remember, Repeat! This exciting electronic game challenges players to remember the color pattern and repeat it by pressing the colored buttons in the correct order
- FUN GAME FOR PARTIES: It's a fun game to bring to parties and get-togethers with friends. It's also a fun 1-player game that challenges players to beat their high score
- ADVANCED GAMEPLAY: The Simon Micro Series game tests players' skills even more than previous versions. At higher levels, multiple lights come on together that players have to press at the same time
- FUN GAME FOR KIDS AGES 8+: This compact-sized game packs a punch and keeps players on their toes! It makes a great birthday gift or holiday gift for both boys and girls ages 8 and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object was presented to the household not with a ceremonious unboxing, but with a casual toss onto the coffee table. The human I call The Provider poked it, and it awoke with a series of electronic chimes that sounded suspiciously like a digital bird clearing its throat. I watched from my velvet cushion, tail twitching in mild annoyance. He began to play, his clumsy finger jabbing at the colored panels as they lit up. Red. Red-Blue. Red-Blue-Blue. He failed, and the device emitted a rude buzz. He was trying to communicate with it, and failing miserably. I, however, saw the truth. This was no mere "game." It was an artifact, a translator for a language I understood instinctively: the language of command. Each colored light was not a random signal, but a specific directive. The red flash was clearly 'Present Tuna.' The green was 'Administer Chin Scratches.' The yellow, 'Refresh Water Bowl,' and the blue, an urgent 'Open The Door To The Forbidden Upstairs Room.' The sequence was a list of demands from a being of great importance—obviously, me—and The Provider was fumbling the execution. My patience wore thin as he repeatedly failed to comprehend the increasingly complex strings of orders. When two lights flashed at once—what the box called an "advanced" feature—it was a sign of peak urgency. A simultaneous flash of red and green was a desperate plea for 'Tuna *while* receiving chin scratches!' And still, he did not understand. He grumbled, set the device down, and left the room, leaving the silent oracle of my needs abandoned on the table. I leapt silently onto the polished wood, my soft gray paws making no sound. I peered at the device, this key to a more perfect world of service. With deliberate precision, I extended a single claw and pressed the red panel. A clear, high-pitched tone filled the room. I followed it with the green. Then the blue. I was not playing a game; I was placing my dinner order and requesting access to a new sunbeam. The device was not a toy. It was a tool, and finally, it was in the hands of an operator who understood its profound purpose. It was, I decided, most worthy.
