Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired yet another object from the Melissa & Doug brand, a purveyor of aggressively cheerful wooden items for the *other*, smaller human in this house. This one appears to be a "puzzle," a primitive matching game featuring various barnyard clichés. The board itself is an insult to my intelligence, with brightly colored depressions for creatures who can't remember where the cow goes. However, the pieces themselves have a certain heft. They are chunky, wooden, and—most importantly—they can stand on their own. This elevates them from mere puzzle components to potential hockey pucks or, perhaps, sacrificial totems to be knocked from a great height. The puzzle aspect is a waste of my time, but the individual, swattable animal figures hold a glimmer of promise for a sophisticated game of my own design.
Key Features
- 8-piece wooden puzzle featuring farm animals
- Pieces stand up for use as manipulatives or play pieces
- Chunky wooden pieces are easy for little hands to grasp
- Full-color pictures beneath the pieces offer visual clues
- Encourages hand-eye coordination and imaginative play; product made with FSC-certified materials that support responsible forestry; applies to new inventory only (FSC C156584)
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with the usual cooing from my human. "Look, Pete! A new puzzle!" she chirped, placing the wooden board on the low coffee table. I observed from my post on the back of the sofa, giving a slow, deliberate blink to feign interest while my mind raced. It was an intelligence test, clearly. But not for me. This was for the small, shrieking human who still struggled with the concept of gravity. I watched the toddler grunt and jam the pig piece into the horse-shaped hole, a display of intellectual savagery that frankly offended my refined sensibilities. Later, under the silver glow of a half-moon filtering through the blinds, I descended from my perch to conduct a proper inspection. The living room was my domain, and this new installation required a full threat assessment. I leaped silently onto the coffee table, my gray tuxedo form a shadow in the dim light. The board, as suspected, was useless. The true value lay in the sentinels standing guard in their designated slots. I nudged the cow with my nose. It was solid, smooth, with a pleasing weight. This was no puzzle. This was a strategic simulation. The cow was a heavy knight, the sheep a nimble bishop, the chicken a pawn. I selected the pig for my first maneuver. A gentle tap sent it wobbling. A firmer *thwack* from my paw sent it skittering across the hardwood floor, its journey ending with a satisfying *clack* against the leg of the credenza. Mission accomplished. One by one, I "liberated" the other pieces from their wooden prison. The horse was dispatched under the armchair; the duck was expertly batted into the dark void beneath the sofa, a place from which few things return. I surveyed my work. The board was empty, a blank testament to my tactical superiority. The pieces were scattered, each a trophy of a silent, one-cat war. The humans thought this was a tool for learning shapes. Fools. They had unwittingly provided me with a high-quality, artisanally-crafted set of targets. I gave a single, satisfied flick of my tail, then curled up on the now-cleared coffee table for a well-deserved nap. The game was won. Let the small human try to solve that puzzle in the morning.
