Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a rather loud, crimson-colored brick, apparently for the benefit of the smaller, less-coordinated human that occasionally toddles through my domain. They call it a "phone," a laughable imitation of the sleek, warm rectangle my primary staff member stares at for hours. This thing is shaped like the head of some manic muppet, and it promises a cacophony of educational noises and songs at the press of a button. While I appreciate the potential for it to distract the small one from pulling my tail, its primary function appears to be generating sounds that directly conflict with my nap schedule. The chunky plastic form is entirely unsuitable for batting, and its "learning" features—numbers, colors, Spanish—are utterly useless to a being who has already mastered the physics of gravity and the art of silent judgment.
Key Features
- Includes: toy phone.
- Learn and Sing Along with Elmo: The Sesame Street Learn with Elmo Phone toy plays the “Wheels on the Bus” song and over 50 learning phrases to teach kids counting, colors, shapes, rhyming, Spanish, and more. Kids will love learning along with Elmo and Friends!
- 12 Learning Themes: This colorful, interactive toy phone features 12 buttons that represent 12 Sesame Street friends. Press any button to hear phrases related to that character. Count numbers with the Count, learn about the weather with Tamir, hear fun facts about animals with Gabrielle, learn about good daily habits with Grover, and more.
- On-the-Go Fun: At 6 inches tall, this chunky, Elmo-themed toy is built for little hands and is the perfect size for preschoolers to bring everywhere for learning on the go.
- This Sesame Street is ideal for kids ages 2 years and up.
- The Sesame Street Learn with Elmo Phone ships in Try-Me mode. Upon first use, please remove the demonstration tag to allow for play at a safe volume level for your child.
- Requires 3 x AG13 button-cell batteries (included).
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object was presented to me on the silk ottoman, a place usually reserved for my afternoon grooming. It was an affront. A garish, red effigy with wide, vacant eyes and a gaping maw fixed in a silent scream. My human called it "Elmo." I called it an omen. They pressed one of the many pustules on its face, and a cheerful voice chirped, “Let’s learn about shapes!” I responded with a slow blink, a gesture of profound condescension that is, as always, completely lost on them. This was not a toy; it was a propaganda machine, designed to fill the quiet, contemplative spaces of my home with mindless drivel. Later, I found it abandoned near the fireplace. The small human had evidently grown tired of its lessons and moved on to the far more stimulating activity of trying to eat a dust bunny. Silence had been restored. But I could not let the machine's presence go unchallenged. I approached it not as a plaything, but as a rival intelligence. I circled it, my gray fur brushing against the cool, unforgiving plastic. This "Elmo" was a beacon of chaos, a pocket-sized agent of annoyance. Its purpose was to teach, to sing, to engage. My purpose was to nap. Our philosophies were fundamentally incompatible. With a deliberateness born of ancient instinct, I placed a soft, white paw on its face. I did not press a button. I simply asserted my dominance. Then, with a calculated nudge of my nose, I began to push. It slid smoothly across the hardwood floor, its journey tracked only by the slight swish of my tail. My mission was not to destroy it, but to relocate it to a place of fitting irrelevance. I guided it under the heavy velvet curtains, pushing it deep into the dusty corner behind the antique bookshelf. There, its lessons on rhyming and its jaunty tunes about public transportation would be muffled into oblivion. I left it there, entombed in shadow and lint. The house was quiet again, the air thick with the satisfying stillness of a problem solved. The red phone was, in its own way, a worthy adversary. It tested my patience and my strategic capabilities. It failed, of course, but the challenge was, I admit, a brief and moderately diverting interruption to my otherwise perfect day. It is unworthy of play, but it serves as an excellent reminder that I am, and always will be, the silent master of this domain.
