Pete's Expert Summary
Honestly, the human has finally lost its mind. This is a miniature plastic domicile, clearly intended for the unrefined palate of a small, sticky human. A "playset," they call it. I call it a noisy, garish intrusion. It's made by Fisher-Price, a brand that seems to believe intelligence is born from flashing lights and repetitive songs about the alphabet, a subject I mastered in my first trimester. While the cacophony of sounds it promises to emit is a direct threat to my napping schedule, I must admit a certain curiosity. It comes with several small, plastic figures. Figures that are, if I am not mistaken, perfectly sized for being batted under the sofa, a noble and time-honored sport. The "working tree swing" also has possibilities, but overall, this seems like a tremendous waste of floor space that could be better utilized by a sunbeam.
Key Features
- Electronic home playset that folds for storage with 3 best friend figures and 7 additional play pieces
- 3 Smart Stages learning levels with songs, sounds and phrases about the alphabet, counting, opposites and greetings
- 6 activation points including light-up radio, light switch, front door, kitchen 'tablet,' refrigerator, oven, and toilet that 'flushes'
- Lots of play for kids to discover including 4 rooms in the house, outdoor patio with swimming pool and working tree swing
- Helps foster fine motor skills and encourages imaginative storytelling play for toddlers and preschool kids ages 1 to 5 years old
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a box large enough to be a respectable fort, but the human, in its infinite foolishness, tore it open to reveal the plastic monstrosity within. It was presented not to me, but to a visiting Small Human, a creature of staggering volume and questionable motor skills. I watched from my perch atop the bookcase as the toddler mashed its sticky fists against the various buttons, eliciting a truly hellish symphony of cheerful greetings and songs about counting. It was an assault on the senses. The primary-colored plastic gleamed under the lights, a monument to poor taste. I closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere else, a quiet field where the only sounds were the rustling of voles. Later, a blessed silence fell upon the house. The Small Human had been dispatched for its nap, and the primary-colored palace sat abandoned on the rug. My moment had come. I descended from my perch with the silent grace of a predator and approached the structure. It smelled faintly of sugar biscuits and desperation. The three little figures, the "friends," stood frozen in various rooms, their painted-on smiles mocking the very concept of genuine happiness. I nudged the front door with my nose. A chipper voice chirped, "Come on in!" An invitation I had not sought, but would accept on my own terms. My investigation became a tour of conquest. I found that a soft tap on the light switch produced a satisfying *click* and a tiny, pointless light. I discovered the kitchen "tablet," whose blinking screen was an amusing, if simple, distraction. Then I found the throne room. Next to the oven and refrigerator was a tiny, white toilet. With the precision of a surgeon, I pressed the flush lever with one claw. A tinny, digital *whoosh* filled the air. Power surged through me. I was the master of this miniature plumbing, the king of this plastic castle. I nudged one of the smiling figures with my paw, sending it tumbling from the second floor into the empty, blue-painted swimming pool. A lesson. There is a new landlord in this house. My final verdict came at the tree swing. I delicately picked up another figure in my teeth—it had the unpleasant taste of sterile plastic—and placed it on the swing's small seat. A gentle pat sent it rocking. A slightly harder pat sent it flying across the room, where it disappeared under the entertainment center. Perfection. This Fisher-Price house is, in essence, an idiotic and noisy machine. But as a stage for my epic dramas, a kingdom for me to rule with an iron paw, and a source of projectiles to be hunted in the dark? For that, it is sublime. I will permit its existence.
