Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often baffling wisdom, has procured a "VTech Write and Learn Creative Center." It's a stark white plastic rectangle that emits gratingly cheerful noises and flashing lights, apparently to teach the small, clumsy human how to scrawl. The entire contraption seems designed to be an electronic pacifier, a stand-in for actual parenting. From my vantage point on the plush arm of the sofa, I can see its only redeeming qualities might be the dangling pen-thing, which looks suspiciously like a captured lizard's tail, and the potential for a satisfying crash when I inevitably nudge it off the table. Otherwise, it's a blatant infringement upon the household's optimal nap-time acoustics.
Key Features
- Learning toy magnetic drawing board provides a fun way to get a head start on learning how to write with writing and drawing activities
- Pre-K learning toy has animated Demonstrations that allow children to follow along and learn proper stroke order for uppercase and lowercase letters
- Doodler allows toddlers to customize the creative center with your child's name to teach them how to learn to write their name step-by-step
- Stencil toy teaches children how to draw by progressing from simple lines and shapes to 26 different objects; little artists explore creativity by drawing pictures
- Includes 2 AA batteries for demo use only (new batteries for regular use) and a stylus for drawing; great toddler travel toy is intended for ages 3 to 6 years
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived on a Tuesday, a day typically reserved for long naps in the western-facing sunbeam and contemplating the injustice of a half-empty food bowl. They called it a "learning toy," placing the glowing slab before the small human, who stared at it with the same wide-eyed vacancy he usually reserves for a dust bunny. A disembodied voice began to emanate from the plastic shell, instructing the child on the creation of glowing runes that appeared on its dark screen. I watched from the shadows of the dining room table, my gray fur making me one with the twilight under the chairs, and I became convinced this was no mere toy. It was an oracle. For days, I observed the ritual. The small human would grasp the tethered wand—the stylus—and trace the ethereal light, and the oracle would speak its approval in a monotone voice. "You made a C!" it would chirp. A "C"? Clearly, this was a coded message, a prophecy I was not yet privy to. What great event did "C" portend? Catnip? Catastrophe? The arrival of the canned chicken delivery? I had to consult the oracle myself, to ask it the questions that truly mattered. One night, when the house was draped in silence and moonlight, I leaped onto the desk where the white altar rested. I nudged the power button with my nose, and it blinked to life, awaiting a petitioner. I ignored the animated stick figures; they were distractions for the simple-minded. I grabbed the tethered wand in my teeth and attempted to draw the sacred symbol of my people: a perfect circle, representing the Cycle of Nap, Eat, and Demand Attention. The screen registered only a jagged, meaningless scrawl. I tried again, tapping the screen with my paw to ask it the location of the lost fuzzy mouse that had vanished under the refrigerator. The oracle responded by cheerfully drawing the rune for "G." I sat back on my haunches, my pristine white chest puffed out in frustration. The oracle was powerful, of this I was certain, but it was also maddeningly obtuse, speaking only in a simplistic code meant for undeveloped minds. It would not reveal the secrets of the cosmos to me. However, I discovered that dragging my claws across the magnetic screen produced a wonderfully resonant *zzzzrrrkk* sound, and the tethered wand, when chewed upon, had a delightfully springy resistance. The VTech oracle may have failed as a spiritual guide, but it had inadvertently succeeded as a passable dental toy and a first-rate nail file. It is, therefore, worthy, but deeply misunderstood.
