Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite lack of wisdom, has procured a plastic beast of burden, apparently for a smaller, louder human that sometimes visits. This "Rocking Horse" from the notorious Little Tikes clan is a shockingly vibrant magenta, an assault on my refined visual palate. Its primary function seems to be rocking back and forth, a mind-numbingly simple activity. However, its small stature and the high-backed seat—ostensibly for safety—present an intriguing possibility. It could be a stationary throne, a perch from which to survey my domain, or it could be a complete waste of floor space that could otherwise be occupied by a sunbeam. The jury, which is to say, me, is still out.
Key Features
- One of Little Tikes' classic items is back.
- Small size
- Perfect for small indoor or outdoor play areas
- Seat is designed to keep kids from falling forward or back
- Easy grip handles; Made in USA
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It appeared in my kingdom one Tuesday, a silent, magenta monolith. The humans called it a "horse," a laughable misidentification. I, with my superior intellect, knew at once what it truly was: a time machine. The smooth, molded plastic was clearly a futuristic alloy, and the simple rocking mechanism was the key to its temporal displacement drive. The two handles were not for gripping, but were arcane energy conduits. I observed it for a full day from the safety of the armchair, watching how the light played across its offensively bright chassis, waiting for it to betray its purpose. My approach was one of scientific inquiry. I extended a single, pristine white paw and tapped its flank. It moved, groaning softly as it swayed on the hardwood floor. This was the activation sequence. A low hum, a vibration that I felt not in my ears but in the pads of my feet. Emboldened, I launched myself onto its back, my claws finding no purchase on the slick surface but my weight settling perfectly into the concave "seat." The world began to pitch and yaw. The hum intensified. The grandfather clock in the hall began to tick backwards. I closed my eyes and focused. By shifting my weight, I could control the temporal flow. A slight lean forward, and I was a kitten again, chasing the ghost of a sunbeam in this very room. A lean back, and I saw myself in the distant future, a grand old patriarch with even softer fur, being served tuna from a levitating bowl. The machine was crude, imprecise, offering only fleeting glimpses, but it worked. This wasn't a toy for a simple child; it was a device for a being of profound temporal sensitivity. When I finally disembarked, the world snapped back into its boring, linear progression. The rocking horse stood silent once more, its secrets safe with me. It was not a throne, nor a simple plaything. It was an instrument, a tool for contemplating the very nature of what was and what will be. It is, I have decided, an acceptable, if aesthetically challenging, piece of equipment for a cat of my caliber. It can stay.
