Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to think that the pinnacle of entertainment comes in a cheap plastic tube. This "Tower Surprise" is, from what I can gather, a mystery box for beings with exceptionally low standards. It contains a small, plastic hominid they call a "Princess" and an assortment of even smaller plastic bits, which they call "accessories." The primary appeal for me, I suspect, would not be the stacking feature—a clear violation of architectural stability—but the potential for the smaller components, like the "character friend," to be batted into the abyss under the sofa. The rest seems like a colossal waste of energy that could be better spent maintaining the perfect indentation on my favorite cushion.
Key Features
- With a mystery small doll and four more surprises, Tower Surprise toys deliver the Disney Princess fun in a charming small scale!
- Open the tower playset to reveal a posable Princess doll (3.5 inches) with a removable skirt. Which character will you find?
- Three more surprises await: a beloved character friend and themed accessories for re-creating treasured Princess movie moments.
- Mystery dolls might be Cinderella, Tiana, Ariel, Mulan, Aurora or Belle. Tower design reflects the magical world of each character.
- Fans can connect the world! With three or more towers, remove the middle tower's roof to connect them together.
- Fans can also create their own Disney Princess world by connecting with any Storytime Stackers playset (sold separately)!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human brought the package home with an air of frantic glee I usually only see when they find the "good" can opener. A series of three colorful plastic cylinders were unwrapped and placed on the living room rug. My human then proceeded to perform a ritual of squealing and clicking as they opened each tower, revealing tiny, stiff-limbed figures and their associated plastic clutter. The true offense, however, came when they stacked them. One tower atop the other, forming a wobbly, pastel-hued spire that dared to cast a shadow upon my afternoon sunning spot. An act of aggression, if ever I saw one. From my perch on the arm of the chair, I observed this architectural abomination. A small figure they called "Belle" stared out from her top-floor prison, a book molded into her tiny hand. She looked smug. Her tower was a garish yellow, an affront to my sophisticated gray-and-white aesthetic. This would not stand. I began my calculations, my tail twitching metronomically. The structure was weak at the junction between the first and second levels. The floor was slick. A low-angle, high-velocity approach was required for maximum effect. I waited for the precise moment the human was distracted by the glowing rectangle in their lap. I slid from the chair, a silent, furry missile. I did not run, I flowed across the hardwood. My target was not the tower itself, but a small plastic teacup accessory lying near the base. My paw shot out, connecting with the tiny piece of plastic and sending it skittering directly into the foundation of the tower with a sharp *tink*. The result was glorious. The tower shuddered, leaned like a drunken sailor, and then collapsed in a magnificent clatter of plastic failure. Belle tumbled from her perch, her book doing her no good now. The tiny bluebird that belonged to Cinderella shot across the floor and disappeared under the television stand—a prize I would claim later. The human yelped in surprise. I, however, began to purr, a low rumble of deep satisfaction. The tower itself is a flimsy piece of junk, but as a kinetic sculpture of cause and effect? A masterpiece. It is worthy, but only as an object to be gloriously and repeatedly destroyed.
