Pete's Expert Summary
My Human has presented me with a small, blue, dog-shaped idol, a "Tonie," she called it. Apparently, this plastic canine is meant to be a great storyteller, regaling one with tales of puzzles and alphabets. However, it requires a separate, glowing pedestal called a "Toniebox" to perform its supposed magic, an item which is conspicuously absent. The entire concept seems designed for the less-discerning palate of a human toddler. While the figurine itself has a certain heft that might be satisfying to bat off a high shelf, the promise of audio entertainment seems dubious. Unless this "Blue" character can sing the lament of a captured field mouse or narrate the thrilling chase of a laser dot, its so-called adventures are bound to be a colossal waste of my energy.
Key Features
- Blue and Josh are ready to play Blue's Clues…with YOU! On this interactive adventure, you’ll problem solve, listen for clues, and sing awesome songs.
- Teaches about problem solving, the alphabet, puzzles and musical instruments.
- Includes Blue's Clues & You toy character with 3 stories and total run time of approximately 57 minutes. Recommended Age Range: 3+, Language: English.
- Tracklist: Blue’s Clues & You! Theme Song, Blue’s Beat Band, Blue’s Big Neighborhood Adventure, ABC Scavenger Hunt, ABC’s with Blue.
- Requires Toniebox Audio Player to play audio; sold separately.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony with which the Human unveiled the thing was, as usual, entirely overwrought. She held it aloft in her palm as if it were a rare jewel, not a piece of mass-produced plastic molded into the shape of a dog. I observed from my throne—a plush cushion on the back of the sofa—and narrowed my eyes. A dog. In my house. Even a miniature, silent one was an insult. It was a garish blue, with an expression of unwavering, simple-minded glee. “It’s Blue, Pete! He tells stories!” the Human cooed, placing the effigy on the coffee table. I deigned to investigate, leaping silently from my perch and landing with a soft thud on the rug. I approached the statue with the caution one reserves for a particularly suspicious-looking spider. A thorough sniff revealed only the sterile scent of a factory and the Human’s hand lotion. No life, no soul, not even the ghost of a treat. I extended a single, perfect claw and gave the figure a sharp *tink*. It rocked, its painted-on smile mocking my efforts. The Human chattered on about “clues” and an “ABC Scavenger Hunt,” which sounded dreadfully pedestrian. My hunts involve actual living creatures, not abstract symbols. “Oh,” the Human said, a note of dawning realization in her voice. “You have to put him on the Toniebox to make it work. I guess I have to order that.” She looked at the silent blue dog, then at me. An awkward silence filled the room, punctuated only by the hum of the refrigerator. So, the great orator was mute. The singer was silent. The entire grand performance was contingent on another, more important object that she had neglected to procure. It was not a toy; it was a testament to poor impulse control and a lack of planning. I gave the blue dog one final, disdainful look. It was a hollow promise, a brightly-colored lie. With a casual, almost bored flick of my paw, I sent it skittering across the polished wood of the table and over the edge. It disappeared into the dusty, cobweb-filled chasm between the sofa and the wall. Let it tell its stories to the dust bunnies. My verdict was clear: this was not a toy, but merely a component. And I, Pete, do not play with incomplete things. I have naps to attend to, sunbeams to conquer, and a world of far more interesting, fully-functional diversions.
