Pete's Expert Summary
It appears my human has acquired another contraption from the infamous Melissa & Doug, a brand specializing in objects for the smaller, less-furry human. This one is a so-called "calendar," a flat, colorful board meant to explain the meaningless concepts of "Tuesday" and "February" to a being who can't even open a can of tuna. It is festooned with an absurd number of tiny magnetic squares depicting weather, holidays, and even a pathetic range of emotions. While the board itself is a waste of prime wall space, the 83 individual magnets present a tantalizing opportunity. They are bite-sized, perfect for batting under the heaviest furniture, and will no doubt provide hours of entertainment... for me, as I watch the humans search for "Sunny" on a rainy day. A potential goldmine for chaos, if one is willing to put in the effort.
Key Features
- Daily magnetic calendar to display day of the week, date, weather, and special events
- Includes a pair of fabric-hinged dry-erase boards (one with calendar template, one blank for magnet storage) with a sturdy cord attached for hanging
- 83 magnets including years, months, numerals for dates, days of the week, holidays, special events, emotions, and a sliding temperature indicator
- Encourages communication and a reassuring expectation about the events in a child's life
- Makes a great gift for preschoolers, ages 3 to 6, for hands-on, screen-free play
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing hung on the wall like a poorly considered piece of art, an insult to the minimalist decor I work so hard to maintain by knocking everything else off the shelves. Each morning, the large human and the small one would perform a ritual before it, moving the little colored squares around. "Today is... MONDAY!" the large one would announce, as if this pronouncement held any meaning beyond the fact that her naps would be shorter. I watched this pageant of absurdity for days, noting a curious correlation: when they placed the little yellow sun magnet on the board, their moods seemed to lift. When the "Doctor Visit" magnet appeared, a pall fell over the household. It was primitive, but fascinating. One night, under the sterile glow of the microwave clock, I decided to conduct an experiment. Leaping silently onto the kitchen counter, I examined the source of their power: a box filled with unused magnets. My nose twitched. I saw one with a picture of a birthday cake, another for "Party," and one simply labeled "Special Event." An idea, brilliant and sharp as a newly extended claw, formed in my mind. The humans weren't tracking reality; they were *creating* it with this board. It was a primitive form of spellcasting. With painstaking care, I used my nose to nudge the "Special Event" magnet from its storage board onto an empty square for the following day. For good measure, I added the "Happy" face emotion magnet right beside it. The next morning, I feigned sleep from the top of the refrigerator, one eye cracked open to observe. "Oh, look!" my human said, pointing at my handiwork. "I don't remember a special event today... but you know what? We haven't had those deluxe salmon pâté cups in a while. Let's make today special!" My ears swiveled forward, my tail giving a single, triumphant thump against the cold metal. It had worked. The calendar wasn't a log of past and future events; it was a command console. A direct interface to the simple, programmable brains of my staff. My initial cynicism has since evaporated, replaced by a sense of profound power. This Melissa & Doug artifact is not a toy for a child; it is a scepter. I have learned to orchestrate the household symphony with a deft nudge of a magnet. A "Cloudy" magnet paired with an "Excited" face now means it's the perfect day for extra lap-naps. The "Snowflake" tile mysteriously appears when I desire to watch the fascinating, frantic birds at the feeder. The board is worthy. In fact, it may be the most sophisticated and effective servant-training device I have ever encountered.
