Pete's Expert Summary
My Human has brought home a curious plastic contraption from the Hasbro conglomerate, a brand I associate with the loud, primary-colored objects the smaller humans favor. It consists of a grid meant to hold hexagonal "ice blocks," upon which a single, stoic-looking penguin figure perches. The goal, apparently, is to use tiny plastic mallets to knock out the blocks without causing the penguin—one "Phillip," I'm told—to fall. This premise is fundamentally flawed. The entire appeal for a being of my superior intellect and predatory instinct is not the preservation of Phillip's fragile existence, but the anticipation of his inevitable, spectacular downfall. The small, skittering blocks are a bonus, but the true prize is the penguin's plunge. It may be a worthy diversion, if only to demonstrate to the humans the proper way to play.
Key Features
- FUN KIDS GAME: This Don’t Break the Ice game is an exciting preschool game that has players tapping out ice blocks one by one, as they imagine helping Phillip the Penguin make a new igloo
- INDOOR GAME FOR AGES 3+: The object of this game for kids is to keep Phillip the Penguin on top of the ice, but as the game goes on, the ice blocks start falling. One wrong block and he'll go ker-plop.
- FAMILY GAMES FOR KIDS: Get everyone together for family game night with the Don't Break the Ice game. Players will be on the edge of their seats just waiting for the moment that the penguin falls through
- CHILDRENS GAMES MAKE GREAT GIFTS: If you're looking for family gifts or gifts for kids, board games are a great choice
- HAVE FUN WITH CLASSIC GAMES: From classic tabletop board games to up-and-active toddler games, to party games, Hasbro Gaming is a one-stop-shop for filling your games closet
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The cacophony of what my Human calls "Family Game Night" was an assault on my carefully curated peace. From my velvet perch on the armchair, I watched them assemble the bright blue frame, a monument to human triviality. They slotted the white and blue hexagons into place, then set the smug, black-and-white figure atop the finished structure. "Phillip the Penguin," they called him. He stood there, impassive and plastic, presiding over his fragile kingdom of ice. He was mocking me. I knew it. His silence was a challenge, an affront to the natural order where small, flightless bird effigies are meant to be toppled. I observed their clumsy attempts at the "game." They used the ridiculous little hammers, tapping with all the grace of a falling bookshelf. *Tap… tap…* A block would dislodge and clatter onto the table. The structure would groan. My tail began a slow, metronomic twitch. They were playing for points, for pride, for some absurd human concept of "winning." They were missing the point entirely. This wasn't a game of construction; it was an exercise in deconstruction. A puzzle of gravitational potential I was uniquely qualified to solve. My opportunity came when the smallest human, in a fit of pique after a poorly aimed strike, flung his mallet and stormed off for a juice box. The remaining humans were distracted by the minor crisis. This was my moment. I flowed from the armchair, a silent grey shadow with white paws. I ignored the discarded hammers, those crude instruments of a lesser species. I approached the table, placed my front paws delicately on its edge, and peered at the grid. My predatory calculus spun into action, assessing stress points and load-bearing blocks. I saw it, the keystone. The one block whose removal would guarantee a total, beautiful collapse. I drew back a single, perfectly manicured white paw. There was no wasted motion, no clumsy bash. Just a precise, surgical *thwip* as my claw connected with the target hexagon. It shot out from the frame and skittered across the polished wood of the table. For a breathtaking second, nothing happened. Then, a shudder went through the structure. Phillip the Penguin wobbled, his plastic form seeming to grasp the gravity of the situation. Then, with a cascade of clattering plastic, the ice gave way. He plummeted into the abyss of the shag carpet below, landing with a deeply satisfying *clack*. I did not linger for the humans' reaction. I simply hopped down, gave my tail a triumphant flick, and retired to my velvet throne. The game was, in fact, brilliant. One just had to understand that the goal wasn't to keep the penguin up, but to orchestrate his downfall with maximum style. It was a masterpiece of controlled demolition, and I was its master.
