Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a “starter kit” for a miniature, less-coordinated version of themself. This package from a brand called "JOYIN" contains a collection of plastic facsimiles of the items my staff holds most dear: a noisy rectangle that mimics the one they stare at all day, a set of keys that promises jingles and clicks, and two flat pieces of plastic that serve no discernible purpose other than to be slid under the couch. The key fob, with its pre-installed power source, shows some promise for immediate batting potential and sound-based stimulation. The phone, however, requires the human to perform the ancient ritual of "finding batteries," which could delay its entertainment value indefinitely. The cards are a long shot, but might be good for a game of "hide and never seek." It’s a collection of potential annoyances and one or two possibly amusing distractions. We shall see if it's worth interrupting a sunbeam for.
Key Features
- Great Value. Set includes Electronic Toy Keyfob, Electronic Toy Phone, Driver's License and Debit Card. Each Toy Accessory Provides Different Play Patterns Adding-up to Endless Hands-on Play period.
- SOUND EFFECTS. Toy Mobile Phone (Requires 3 AAA Batteries Not Included) Talks Back to Kids with14 Different Unique Phrases and Music When Touched. Electronic Toy Keyfob (Requires 3 L44 Batteries Included) Features Colorful Press Buttons with Three Different Car Sounds
- INCREDIBLE DETAILS. Driver License and Debit Cards are all Designed with Details and Fashion. It’s Handy and Perfect for Toddler Fashion Expert to Play
- PREMIUM QUALITY & SAFETY. Child Safe: Non-Toxic. Meet US toy standard. Safety test approved.
- EXCEPTIONAL CARE: We're big on the little things. That's why customer safety and satisfaction are at the heart of everything we do. Contact us if products don't meet your expectations. We look forward to ensuring every moment brings you joy.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with the usual fanfare of tearing cardboard and my human making cooing noises. They placed the contents on the living room rug, a strange offering of plastic totems. I observed from my perch on the armchair, tail twitching in critical assessment. They were clearly artifacts of power, replicas of the very tools my human used to control their world. The phone, used to summon the food delivery person. The keys, used to awaken the roaring metal beast in the garage. And the cards, swiped in machines to procure my salmon pâté. This was, I concluded, a “Junior Executive” training kit. My investigation began with the key fob. It felt light under my paw, and a satisfying jingle emanated from the attached keys. I pressed a large red button with my nose. A loud, aggressive *BEEP-BEEP* filled the room. I immediately looked toward the driveway, expecting the family vehicle to flash its lights in acknowledgement. Nothing. I tried the blue button. A simulated engine roar, a *VROOOOM* of pathetic, tinny proportions. It was a fraud. A powerless effigy. Disgusted by its lack of actual authority, I gave it a sharp cuff, sending it skittering across the hardwood floor. The sound it made was… rather delightful. I chased it down, the jangling keys a fine percussive accompaniment to my pounce. Perhaps its purpose was not command, but sport. Next, I turned my attention to the phone. It was inert, a silent black mirror. I tapped its screen, mimicking the endless scrolling motion I’d seen a thousand times. It offered no response. I nudged it, then gave it a more forceful head-butt, a clear signal that I required its services. Silence. I remembered the human fumbling with the back of it, a sign of its dependency on their intervention. An inferior tool, clearly. I abandoned it in favor of the two plastic cards. They were flimsy, yet possessed the perfect weight and shape for sliding into the narrow gap beneath the entertainment center. One flick of my paw and the “Debit Card” vanished into the dark abyss, a sacrifice to the dust bunnies. My human eventually returned with batteries, and the phone sputtered to life, singing a cheerful, idiotic song. The noise was an affront to my finely tuned ears. They offered it to me, but I turned away with a flick of my tail. My verdict was clear. The phone was a vulgar noisemaker, the cards were disposable offerings for the void, but the key fob… the key fob was an excellent skittering-puck. It had failed spectacularly at its intended purpose of mimicking power, but in doing so, had found a new, more noble calling as a first-rate toy. Not a total loss, but the humans clearly have no idea what constitutes true quality.
