Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has acquired a 'magic set' from Melissa & Doug, a purveyor of sturdy wooden objects for clumsy young bipeds. Apparently, the goal is to perform 'illusions' like making a ball vanish or predicting a number, which seems like an overly complicated way to fail to entertain me. While I appreciate the solid wood construction—it promises a satisfying *thump* when knocked off a shelf—the true value is clearly the box itself, a prime napping location. The so-called 'tricks,' like the 'Secret Silks' and the 'Vanishing Ball,' might offer a brief flicker of interest, but let's be honest: the greatest magic trick would be turning this entire box into a single, perfect piece of sun-warmed cardboard.
Key Features
- Professional magic tricks for the beginning illusionist
- Impressive, easy-to-master tricks encourage confidence, and help develop fine motor skills and hand-eye coordination
- 10 classic tricks include Disappearing Ball, Magic Coin Box, Secret Silks, Great Escape, Magic Number Prediction, Money Maker, Egyptian Prediction, Vanishing Zone, Cylinder Squeeze, and Vanishing Coin.
- Solid-wood set in wooden storage box that doubles as a performance space
- Makes a great gift for kids eight and older, for hands-on, screen-free play
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Human presented the heavy wooden box with an air of theatricality usually reserved for the opening of a particularly pungent can of tuna. I offered a slow, unimpressed blink. Inside was a jumble of painted blocks and cylinders, smelling faintly of sawdust and dashed hopes. My human fumbled with them, attempting to perform what the box called the "Great Escape," which resulted only in a small red peg clattering to the floor. I watched it roll under the sofa, considering its rescue a problem for a future, more motivated version of myself. This was, as I suspected, a collection of profoundly un-magical objects. I was preparing to retire to a sunbeam for my post-disappointment nap when the Human pulled out a new piece. It was a small wooden sarcophagus, gaudily painted with what a simpleton might call Egyptian-style figures. "And now," the Human announced to the empty room, "for the Egyptian Prediction!" My ears, which had been angled toward the distant hum of the refrigerator, swiveled forward with sudden, sharp intensity. Egypt. The word resonated deep in my bones, a genetic echo from a time when my ancestors were not mere companions, but gods. I rose, my soft gray paws silent on the hardwood floor, and approached the offering. The Human was busy trying to manipulate a slider on the back, completely missing the point. I ignored the clumsy hands and leaned in, my nose twitching. The crude symbols on the box seemed to shimmer, and for a fleeting moment, the scent of pine and paint was replaced by the warm dust of the Nile, the aroma of spiced milk and reverent silence. I saw, in my mind's eye, a vast temple hall. I saw a saucer of cream, placed before a creature of immense grace and power—a creature that looked remarkably like me, but with a fine gold collar. A low growl rumbled in my chest, a sound of ancient authority. The Human paused, looking down at me in surprise. This was no toy. This was an artifact, a holy relic being desecrated by a buffoon in a bathrobe. I placed a single, definitive white paw upon the "Egyptian Prediction" box, claiming it. The other tricks were irrelevant, mere firewood. This piece, however, was mine. It would serve as a proper pedestal from which I could oversee my domain and contemplate the long, slow decline of civilization since the 19th Dynasty. The magic set was, against all odds, a success—but not in the way the Human would ever understand.
