Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have mistaken me for a small, dim-witted child by presenting me with this Fisher-Price "Smart Stages Tablet." It's a slab of plastic designed to mimic their own, far superior, lap-warming device. This imposter boasts a cacophony of over 100 sounds and flashing lights, promising to teach rudimentary concepts like the alphabet to creatures with undeveloped minds. While the 28 pressable buttons might offer a brief, tactile diversion for a less sophisticated being, I suspect the repetitive jingles are engineered specifically to disrupt my meticulously scheduled naps. The only feature of remote interest is the "dancing" lights, which might, if the mood strikes and the sunbeam is at a poor angle, provide a flicker of entertainment before I return to my far more important duties.
Key Features
- Pretend tablet electronic learning toy with lights and 100+ songs, sounds & phrases
- 3 Smart Stages levels grow along with baby and introduce the alphabet, familiar objects and colors
- 28 “app” buttons to press to activate the music and lights
- Multi-color lights glow and “dance” along to the beat
- Helps strengthen fine motor skills, introduce cause & effect, and foster early role-play for infants and toddlers ages 1 to 3 years old
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object was placed on the rug with an air of ceremony I found deeply insulting. It was a cheap, plastic pretender to the throne, a garish imitation of the Great Warm Rectangle the human stared at for hours. They tapped a button, and a tinny, painfully cheerful voice sang about the letter 'A'. I flicked an ear in disgust and pointedly turned my back, presenting my silken gray flank as a clear sign of my disapproval. This was an affront to my intelligence. I am a connoisseur of subtle movements, the silent language of a twitching tail, the nuanced art of the slow blink. I do not need to be told that an apple is red. Later, under the cloak of midnight, I decided to conduct a more thorough investigation. The house was still, my humans were asleep, and the only light was a pale moonbeam striping the floor. I approached the device, my paws silent on the rug. I extended a single, perfect claw and depressed a button marked with a musical note. A frantic medley of lights erupted, flashing and swirling in the darkness. My hunter's instinct, usually reserved for the elusive red dot or a particularly bold housefly, was piqued. The lights were not random; they followed a pattern, a chaotic dance that my keen eyes could track. I batted at another button. More lights, more sound. It was an interactive light show, a silent disco just for me. I spent the next hour orchestrating my own private rave. A tap of the paw here, a press of the nose there. Each button was a new beat, a different rhythm of flashing colors. I was no longer Pete, the pampered house cat; I was DJ Fluff-n-Stuff, master of the electronic arts, dropping beats for an audience of dust bunnies and shadows. The ABCs and 123s were merely the backing track to my visual masterpiece. I found that a swift combination of the "Circle" button and the "Star" button produced a particularly satisfying strobe effect that made the shadows leap and twist. When the first rays of dawn crept through the window, I was still there, panting slightly, my tuxedo front a bit rumpled. The human found me curled up beside the plastic tablet, one paw resting possessively on its surface. They chuckled, thinking I had simply been "playing." They had no idea. They had not witnessed the symphony of light I had conducted. My final verdict? While its educational value is an utter waste of plastic, as a personal, customizable light-show generator, it is… acceptable. It has earned a temporary place in my domain, but only for its use after dark.
