Pete's Expert Summary
My Staff has presented me with a garish, tiger-striped plastic object from a brand I know all too well: VTech, a purveyor of clamorous devices for small, unsteady humans. This "guitar" is an assault on the senses, promising a cacophony of animal sounds, flashing lights, and what it dares to call "music" in various styles. The primary buttons, emblazoned with the faces of a lesser menagerie, are an insult, particularly the one depicting a tiger—a cheap imitation of true feline majesty. While the notion of creating my own "original songs" is patently absurd, the little slider and whammy bar might provide a moment's tactile diversion. Ultimately, its purpose is to create noise and distract toddlers, which makes it a direct threat to my napping schedule and the general peace of my domain.
Key Features
- Press the animal buttons to hear sounds and silly songs about Tiger, Elephant, Parrot, Bear and Frog
- Build motor skills by pressing the eight light-up buttons and moving the slider to strum the strings
- Play along with the melodies or create original songs; pull the whammy bar to add sound effects and roars
- Turn the guitar and music style knobs to choose acoustic, electric or distorted electric guitar sounds and play along to rock, blues and country melodies
- Intended for ages 1.5-4 years; requires 2 AA batteries; batteries included for demo purposes only; new batteries recommended for regular use
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a box that smelled of factory dust and false promises. The Staff, with that hopeful, slightly idiotic gleam in her eyes, freed the orange beast and set it upon my favorite rug. My initial assessment was swift: a piece of plastic junk. But then I saw it. Amidst the crude drawings of a frog and a bear, there was the face of a Tiger. A pretender. A hollow, plastic usurper to my throne. The sheer audacity sent a ripple down my spine, my tail giving a single, irritated flick. The Staff, oblivious to the simmering court intrigue, pressed the offending button. A tinny, synthesized "roar" echoed in the living room, followed by a cheerful, moronic song about the very same tiger. This was its challenge, its declaration of intent. I would not stand for it. I rose, stretched with deliberate slowness, and padded over to the interloper. This was not a time for play; this was a matter of asserting dominance. I circled it once, my tuxedo fur immaculate against its loud, tacky shell. It sat there, silent and stupid, awaiting its next command from a clumsy hand. I ignored the pleas of the Elephant and the Parrot. They were mere lackeys. I raised a soft, gray paw, claws carefully sheathed, and pressed down on the Tiger's face myself. The ridiculous roar sounded again. I leaned in close, until my nose almost touched the plastic, and let out a low, guttural growl from deep in my own chest—a sound of pure, aristocratic annoyance. The plastic effigy had no response. It was, as I suspected, a fraud. I had met its challenge and found it utterly wanting. Having established my supremacy, my work was done. Or so I thought. As I turned to leave, my tail brushed against the dangly bit on the side—the "whammy bar." It wobbled and let out a satisfying *sproing-g-g* noise, and a distorted chord blared from the speaker. I paused. I batted it again. *Sproing!* Another noise. This was different. This wasn't a challenge to my rule; this was a jester, a fool in the court designed for my amusement. The lights, the songs, the pathetic roars were all an irrelevant sideshow. The true purpose of this device, I concluded, was to be a wobbly, noisy lever for me to whack when I demand dinner. It is not a worthy rival, but it may serve as a passable servant.
