Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe my intellect is on par with that of a small, sticky child, judging by this latest offering from the Fisher-Price institution. It is a garishly yellow transport vehicle, clearly designed to indoctrinate the young with gratingly cheerful music and flashing lights. Its primary functions appear to be rolling, making a racket when prodded, and housing two small, plastic hostages with unnervingly fixed smiles. While the cacophony it threatens to produce is an affront to any creature of refined taste, the small, removable figures present a glimmer of potential. They are, I must admit, perfectly sized for batting under the sofa, which could provide at least a fleeting moment of satisfaction before I return to my nap.
Key Features
- Push-along toy school bus with lights, music and sounds for toddler and preschool pretend play
- Press the Discovery Button or the driver’s seat to activate the lights, sing-along songs, realistic sounds, and phrases
- Manually fold out the stop sign and open the bus door to load & unload passengers
- Includes 2 Little People figures sized just right for small hands to grasp & move
- Helps strengthen fine motor skills and encourages storytelling for toddlers and preschool kids ages 1 to 5 years old
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived not in a storm, but in a cardboard box, which is much the same thing in this household. The Staff called it a "school bus," a vessel I understand is used to transport noisy juveniles. This one, a monolith of Canary Yellow, was placed in the center of my sunbeam, a declaration of war if ever I'd seen one. Inside its transparent prison sat two beings, their faces frozen in expressions of vapid bliss. They were clearly the advance party for some manner of invasion, and this yellow machine was their Trojan Horse. I narrowed my eyes, my tail giving a single, deliberate thump against the rug. The Staff, in their infinite ignorance, decided to "activate" the intruder. A single press of a button unleashed its true, horrifying nature. A manic series of lights pulsed from its single, cyclopean eye on top, and a disembodied voice began to sing a chillingly upbeat tune about the wonders of public transport. It was a siren song, designed to lull the senses and soften the mind for indoctrination. The two plastic figures sat impassively through the sermon, their painted smiles seeming to widen. They were already lost. I, however, am made of sterner stuff. I approached with the silent tread of a predator stalking its prey. The music blared, a desperate attempt to convert me to its cause. I ignored it, focusing on the machine's weaknesses. A light tap with my paw revealed a flimsy, hinged door. I hooked a claw and swung it open, an act of defiance. The singing continued. I then discovered the little red sign that folded out from the side—a pathetic attempt at authority. I batted it back and forth with contempt. It was all so simple, so crudely constructed. My final act was one of liberation. The music finally ceased, leaving a ringing silence. I reached into the hollow cavity of the bus and surgically extracted one of the smiling hostages. It was light, smooth, and perfect. With a single, expert swat, I sent the figure skittering across the hardwood floor and directly under the credenza, lost to the light of day. The bus sat empty, its purpose defeated. The machine itself is a garish failure, a noisy and useless idol. Its passengers, however, make for excellent sport. It may remain, but only as a holding cell for my future prisoners.
