Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have mistaken me for one of the smaller, louder, and significantly less sophisticated bipeds this device is intended for. This "VTech KidiZoom Smartwatch" is, in essence, a bulky, glowing shackle designed to distract a juvenile human. It boasts a screen for them to smudge, cameras for them to take blurry photos of their own nostrils, and a "music player" that will no doubt emit sounds rivaling the distress call of a dying vacuum cleaner. From my perspective, its potential value lies not in its intended, noisy functions, but in its physical properties. The "premium metal body" might be pleasantly cool to rub my face against, and the included micro-USB cable presents a tantalizing "tail" that could provide several minutes of chewing and batting entertainment before the Staff confiscates it. It is, at best, a high-tech piece of floor clutter with a decent string attached.
Key Features
- This super-cool smartwatch has two cameras, a large screen, high resolution, a premium metal body, a music player and more
- Get out and play with this splash-proof watch, featuring exciting activities, challenges and reaction games designed to get you moving
- Explore your creativity with the dual cameras, adding effects to photos and videos or making music with the composer app
- Includes 50 built-in clock faces, plus more to download to practice telling time, or shake the watch to hear the time out loud
- Intended for ages 4+ years; rechargeable lithium-ion battery; charge device using included micro-USB cable only and avoid third-party adapters
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object was presented to me with an absurd amount of ceremony, held aloft by the Staff as if it were a freshly caught tuna. I gave it a cursory sniff. It smelled of plastic and disappointment. A gaudy blue rectangle strapped to a rubbery band. I flicked my ear in dismissal and turned to meticulously groom a patch of fur on my shoulder, a clear signal that my interest was nonexistent. The Staff, undeterred, strapped it to the wrist of the smaller, more chaotic human—the Progeny—and left them to their own devices. Later, from my observation post atop the bookcase, I watched. The Progeny jabbed a sticky finger at the glowing screen, and a cacophony of tinny beeps erupted. Then, a strange ritual began. The Progeny would run in a circle, then shake the watch violently. A synthesized voice would chirp, "Great job!" This was no mere toy. My feline intellect, honed by years of complex gravitational experiments involving items on shelves, began to connect the dots. This was clearly a training device. A pavlovian remote control for the lesser beings in the house. The movements, the noises, the verbal rewards... it was a system. And the dual cameras? Obviously, they were optical scanners, logging data on the subject's compliance for some unseen, higher authority. My opportunity came when the Progeny, bored with its conditioning, discarded the device on the rug and wandered off. I descended from my perch with the silent grace of a shadow. This was my chance to seize control. I bypassed the baffling screen interface; my paws are instruments of elegant destruction, not clumsy poking. I focused on the core function I had observed: the shake-activated command. I nudged the watch with my nose, then batted it, sending it skittering across the hardwood floor. "It is five-oh-three P.M.," the device announced calmly. A failed command. I was trying to activate the "dispense treats" function, not request a temporal update. I batted it again, harder this time, attempting to input the "open the door to the sunbeam room" protocol. "Let's play Monster Catcher!" it squealed. Utterly useless. After several more attempts to hack its primitive system yielded only inane games and time announcements, I came to a disappointing conclusion. This was not the master controller for the household I had theorized it to be. It was a fool's bauble, a digital pacifier for the easily amused. Dejected, I lay my head down, my chin resting on the cool metal casing of the watch. It was... surprisingly pleasant. The rubber strap had a satisfying texture against my teeth. My verdict was in: as a tool for commanding my domestic empire, it was an abject failure. But as a chin-rest and occasional chew toy? Marginally acceptable. I would permit its continued existence, for now.
