Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured a garish plastic ziggurat for the backyard, ostensibly for the smaller, louder human. They call it a "Panda Climber." While the name is an insult to both pandas and the art of climbing, the structure itself presents some... possibilities. It purports to be an "all-in-one activity gym," which I translate to a multi-level observation and napping station. The elevated platform is intriguing for sunbathing and surveying my domain for squirrel-based infractions. The "crawl space" beneath offers a shaded, defensible position from which to launch surprise ankle attacks. The slide, however, appears to be a ridiculously inefficient and undignified method of descent. Its indestructibility is a plus, as it must withstand both the clumsy ministrations of a toddler and the graceful, yet powerful, landing of a superior feline. It may have merit, provided it is not constantly occupied by its intended user.
Key Features
- The Step2 Panda Climber is a versatile all-in-one outdoor activity gym with tons of features little ones will enjoy.
- Toddlers will love to get active as they climb, slide, and hold secret club meetings in the crawl space!
- Large platform is perfect for little ones to look out at their backyard play space and encourages fun imaginative play with friends.
- Made EverTough, this outdoor climber is uniquely indestructible and ready to outlast hours of playtime fun!
- In the box: Climber base with platform, arch, and slide.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a box far larger than any I had ever had the pleasure of sitting in. Once assembled, it stood in the yard like a monument to poor taste, its primary colors an affront to the dignified greens and browns of my natural kingdom. The human gestured to it, making the usual cooing noises they reserve for simpletons and new acquisitions. I, of course, remained aloof, observing from the safety of the patio door, tail twitching in silent judgment. I would not be lured by such a crude offering. This was a "Step2" product, clearly a second-rate step in any evolutionary direction. Hours later, under the silver light of a half-moon, my investigation began. The smaller human was asleep, its chaotic energy finally contained. I crept across the dewy grass, a silent gray-and-white shadow. The structure, which I had privately dubbed "The Citadel of the Clumsy Panda," loomed before me. I did not climb the stairs; that was for pedestrians. I leaped, with athletic perfection, directly from the ground to the edge of the main platform. As advertised, the "EverTough" plastic did not so much as shudder. From this new vantage point, the entire yard was laid out before me like a tactical map. I could see the treacherous rose bushes where the sparrows conspire and the weak point in the fence where the neighbor's witless beagle sometimes pokes its nose. This was a command post of unparalleled strategic value. My eyes then fell upon the slide, a slick, blue tongue lolling onto the grass. A primitive escape route? A waste of good plastic? I tested its surface with a single, discerning paw. Too smooth. No traction. An undignified plummet awaited any who dared use it. I dismissed it with a flick of my ear. Instead, my attention was drawn to the dark archway below my perch. I descended with the grace of a falling leaf and slipped into the cavern beneath. It was a perfect den—cool, sheltered, with multiple openings for surveillance and ambush. It smelled faintly of new plastic and damp earth, a promising combination. Suddenly, a distant porch light flickered on. My human was stirring. My mission was complete. The Citadel, despite its vulgar appearance, was a worthy addition to my territory. The Small Human could have the garish upper deck and the ridiculous slide for its noisy games. I had claimed the true prize: the shadowy undercroft, the secret headquarters from which I would orchestrate the silent dramas of the backyard. It was, I had to admit, a surprisingly well-considered fortress. It would do.
