Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented a plastic "toolbox" from a brand called "Learning Resources." The name alone is an insult; my learning is complete, focused on the critical arts of sunbeam tracking and gravitational theory (as applied to objects on countertops). It contains several brightly colored implements—a hammer, a saw, a wrench, and so on—all made of a soft, chunky plastic. The intended recipient is apparently a small, clumsy human, but the individual pieces look perfectly sized for being swatted under the heaviest furniture. The primary draw seems to be a "drill" that makes a noise when squeezed, which could either be a delightful new sound to interrupt my human's video calls or a terrifying harbinger of doom. Frankly, it all seems like a lot of effort when a perfectly good nap is waiting to be had.
Key Features
- TOY TOOLS: Little tools for big imaginary projects. Surprise your children with this toddler tool set
- TODDLER-SAFE TOOLS: Encourage imaginative play with toddler-safe tools made from durable, soft plastic
- TODDLER TOOLBOX INCLUDES: Includes saw, hammer, screwdriver, wrench, drill, and toolbox
- REALISTIC SOUNDS: Squeeze the drill and it makes sounds
- Give the Gift of Learning: Whether you’re shopping for holidays, birthdays, or just because, toys from Learning Resources help you discover new learning fun every time you give a gift!
- Kids' Toys for Stocking Stuffers!: From fidget toys and board games to puzzles and beyond, our education Kids toys make the perfect Christmas gifts for boys and girls!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The day began with an assault on the senses. My human was engaging in what they call "home improvement," which I call "The Great Disturbance." It involved a shrieking metal beast that bored holes in the wall and a loud, percussive hammer that sent shudders through the floorboards, disrupting the delicate vibrations of my morning slumber. I observed from the safety of the hallway, tail twitching in profound disapproval. This was chaos. This was work. I wanted no part of it. Later, as a peace offering for the acoustic terrorism, the human presented me with a small, red toolbox. Inside were miniature, plastic effigies of the very instruments of torture they had just wielded. I was offended. Was this a mockery? A toddler’s parody of true destructive power? I gave the plastic hammer a disdainful sniff. It smelled of nothing. I nudged the saw with my nose; its teeth were soft and pathetic, incapable of so much as scratching the finish on my food bowl. I was prepared to dismiss the entire collection as an insult to my intelligence and retire to the sofa for a restorative nap. My human, however, seemed insistent. They picked up the bright yellow drill. My ears flattened instinctively, bracing for the shriek. But instead of plugging it into the wall, they simply squeezed the handle. A comical, wheezing *whirr-squeak* emerged. It was less a tool of industry and more a desperate plea from a rubber duck. I blinked. They squeezed it again. *Whirr-squeak*. This wasn't a threat. This was a signal. I extended a tentative paw and tapped the drill. It wobbled. Gathering my courage, I pressed my paw firmly onto the trigger. *Whirr-squeak*. I had done it. I was the master of the noise. The other tools were summarily batted under the bookshelf, forgotten artifacts of a failed attempt to impress me. But the drill… the drill was different. I discovered its true purpose had nothing to do with "fixing" things. Its purpose was communication. When the human was too engrossed in their glowing rectangle, a well-timed *whirr-squeak* from under their chair would magically produce a concerned face and a query of, "What is it, Pete?" A few more squeaks, and that query often turned into a trip to the kitchen for a treat. The toolbox was mostly junk, but this squeaky, yellow marvel? It was a scepter of power, a key to unlocking the human's attention. It was, against all odds, worthy.
