Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what they call a "Matchbox Airport Takeoff Adventure Playset." From my superior vantage point, it appears to be a rather elaborate plastic landscape designed for tiny humans. The primary features are a tethered plastic airplane that moves in a tragically predictable arc and a small, heavy metal car that looks suspiciously like something that would hurt if I accidentally knocked it off a shelf onto my head. While the small hangar with its functioning door offers a glimmer of potential as a private napping vestibule, the overall contraption seems to rely heavily on a human operator to function. It is, in essence, a monument to un-pounceable, non-interactive boredom. A waste of prime floor space that could be better utilized for sunbeams.
Key Features
- Imaginations take flight with the Matchbox Airport Takeoff Adventure Playset that includes a toy die-cast car and plastic airplane
- The Matchbox Airport Takeoff Adventure Playset features an awesome control tower controller that allows kids to fly the plane like it flies in real life
- Attach the plane to the clip, then move the handle to taxi down the runway and take off into the air. When it's time to descend, hit the button on the control tower and the plane automatically lands back on the runway
- Taxi to the hangar, where the door can be opened and closed. Don't forget to refuel before the next trip
- Drive the included die-cast Audi e-tron toy car up to the terminal to activate the doors, revealing the attendant
- Kids can attach additional Matchbox or Hot Wheels tracks and playsets to the base for open-ended play. (Other tracks and playsets sold separately.)
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a cacophonous box, its colorful facade an assault on my refined, monochromatic sensibilities. The Human, with the sort of clumsy enthusiasm I usually reserve for a particularly plump moth, assembled the plastic territory on what I consider *my* rug. They called it an airport. I called it an eyesore. A pathetic little plane was clipped onto a mechanical arm, and a shiny gray lozenge—an "Audi," the Human chirped—was placed near a miniature building. I remained aloof on the chaise lounge, observing the proceedings through half-lidded eyes, my silence a form of judgment. My Human's hand, a giant, fleshy beast from my perspective, descended upon the control tower. With a whirring of cheap plastic, the captive plane was forced into a low, circular flight. It was an aerial mockery, a pre-ordained path with none of the chaotic, thrilling swoops of a real fly. This was not a hunt; it was a puppet show. I watched its sad little journey, my tail-tip twitching not with excitement, but with pity. When the plane "landed" with an unsatisfying *thunk*, I let out a long, deliberate sigh that fogged the nearby window. Deciding to grant the apparatus a cursory inspection—one must, after all, know one's enemy—I padded silently across the floor. I ignored the circling plane, a clear and calculated snub. My target was the small metal Audi. I nudged it with my nose. It was cold, heavy, and utterly unresponsive. I gave it a solid shove with my paw, sending it skittering across the hardwood until it disappeared under the credenza with a distant *clink*. A minor victory. The Human, of course, missed the entire strategic maneuver, too busy making the plane take off again. I then turned my attention to the hangar. The door swung open easily. I poked my head inside. It was dark, smelled of new plastic, and was just large enough for me to curl up in. This, I decided, was the only salvageable part of the entire operation. While the Human continued to play with their caged bird and search for their lost metal slug, I claimed the hangar as my new forward command post. The airport itself was a failure, a toy devoid of life or challenge. But a new, strategically located napping spot? Now *that* is a feature worthy of my attention. I will allow it to stay. For now.
