Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a box of what appear to be tiny, processed tree limbs. They call them "LINCOLN LOGS." The smell of actual wood is a promising start, a refreshing change from the usual offensive plastic. The purpose, it seems, is for small, clumsy humans to construct a crude shelter, complete with a door that works (a feature I can appreciate, should I deign to enter) and various small effigies of a hiker, a wolf, and a bonfire. While the construction process will undoubtedly be a tedious affair that steals attention away from me, the individual components hold some promise. The logs are an ideal size for batting under the sofa, and the tiny wolf figure looks like it would make a satisfying crunch, or at the very least, serve as a worthy adversary in a skirmish on the living room rug. It's a potential diversion, but it will have to prove its worth against the allure of a sunbeam.
Key Features
- Real Wood Logs: all Lincoln Logs sets include meticulously crafted, beautifully stained real wood logs, which are manufactured to the strictest quality standards
- Build & Play: create a cozy log cabin scene with windows and a working door, fun play figures and accessories - a hiker, a Wolf, a tree, and a bonfire!
- Easy to Build: Lincoln Logs easily stack together, allow preschoolers as young as 3 to hone their fine motor skills, hand-eye coordination, and manual dexterity
- Instructions Included: Use the easy-to-follow, step-by-step building instructions or encourage your imaginative builder to design their own creations
- Invented in 1916 by John Lloyd Wright, the son of architect Frank Lloyd Wright, Lincoln Logs have been America's National Toy for generations. Share this nostalgic experience with your loved ones today!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The scent hit me first, a dusty, pine-and-cedar aroma that tickled my whiskers and dredged up ancestral memories I didn't know I had. My human, with the typical lack of subtlety, had dumped the contents of the box onto the rug, creating a miniature lumber yard in the center of my domain. I watched from my velvet throne as she fumbled with the notched sticks, her large fingers struggling to construct what the box promised would be a "cozy log cabin." The final structure was… adequate. A four-walled box with a flimsy green roof. Then she placed the totems: a small, smiling man; a paltry excuse for a tree; a fire that offered no warmth; and a wolf. This was not a toy. This was a challenge. Once she retreated to the kitchen for her strange, brown water, I descended. I moved like a gray mist, my tuxedo markings a blur against the dark wood floors. The cabin stood before me, a monument to human inefficiency. I didn't topple it—that would be beneath me. Instead, I peered through the window. The tiny hiker stood inside, his painted-on smile an insult. With a single, elegant hook of a claw, I popped open the working door, a feature I now saw as a fatal design flaw. The hiker was no match for a predator of my caliber. A gentle nudge sent him face-down onto the rug. Territory secured. My true business was with the wolf. It stood outside the cabin, a silent, wooden pretender to my throne. We stared at each other for a long moment, a contest of wills between a sliver of stained wood and a being of pure, fluid grace. It did not flinch. I respected that. But respect does not grant immunity. I raised a paw, claws sheathed, and delivered a single, precise tap. The wolf went skittering across the floor, spinning end over end until it came to rest under the shadow of the couch. There could only be one apex predator in this household. The logs themselves? Decent. The long, flat roof pieces slid beautifully on the hardwood, and the small, round logs made a satisfying *thump* when dropped from the arm of the chair. As a construction set, it's a waste of perfectly good wood. But as a theater for my own frontier justice and a source of well-balanced projectiles, it has earned a temporary stay of execution. It is worthy. For now.
