Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe that my domain—the floor—requires "protection" and "visual stimulation," ostensibly for a smaller, louder human they occasionally produce. This "ProSource Foam Puzzle" appears to be their solution: a collection of garishly colored squares made of some sort of dense foam. I suppose the interlocking nature has some minor puzzle-like appeal, and the soft, textured surface might be adequate for a preliminary claw-sharpening session before I move on to the far superior armchair. However, the primary colors are an assault on my refined sensibilities, and if they think I'm going to be impressed by a simple, flat square, they have gravely underestimated the complexity of my intellect. It's likely just another object to be briefly investigated and then ignored in favor of a superior sunbeam.
Key Features
- PROTECTIVE FLOORING – Durable, high density foam provides a gentle surface and protection for your child in areas with hard floors
- EASY ASSEMBLY – Interlocking individual puzzle pieces are quick & simple to assemble, easy to pull apart for storage and painless to clean
- 16 SQ. FEET – 16 interlocking 12 x 12-in puzzle pieces with 24 border pieces, covers a 4 x 4-ft area when combined; or just use a few tiles to cover a small area
- VISUAL STIMULATION - Bright primary colors help to stimulate your baby's brain growth and early childhood development
- SAFE – Soft, textured EVA foam is free of toxic phthalates and creates a soft, comfortable play area for children of various ages
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The humans laid out the squares with the kind of self-congratulatory pride usually reserved for opening a can of my favorite tuna. I watched from my perch atop the bookshelf, my tail twitching in mild disdain. A flat, offensively bright patchwork now occupied a prime napping location. It was an insult. For two days, I treated it as if it were a lava field, leaping dramatically over it to get from the sofa to the hallway, refusing to let my pristine white paws touch its common surface. The humans cooed, assuming I was playing. Fools. I was registering my official protest. On the third night, a profound silence had fallen over the house, punctuated only by the hum of the magical cold food box. I descended from my perch for my nightly patrol. As I passed the vibrant monstrosity, I noticed they had failed to assemble it correctly, leaving a few of the border pieces and one lonely yellow square beside the main mat. Curiosity, that base and troublesome instinct, got the better of me. I nudged the stray piece with my nose. It slid easily. My paw sank into the foam—it yielded with a satisfying softness. My claws extended instinctively, sinking into the textured material. It wasn't the worst scratching surface I had ever encountered. But then, a different thought took hold, an idea of such magnificent, architectural brilliance it could only have come from a mind like mine. This was not a floor covering. This was a construction material. The interlocking teeth were not for simple, two-dimensional arrangements; they were for *building*. With the focus of a master craftsman, I began my work. Using my teeth and paws, I pried one of the red corner pieces loose. Then a blue one. I was no longer a simple house cat; I was Pete, the Architect. The flat mat became my quarry. I pushed and pulled, detaching the garish squares and using their notched edges to build upwards. By the time the first rays of dawn pierced the blinds, my masterpiece was complete. Where once there was a pathetic mat, there now stood a multi-level fortress. It had ramparts made of border pieces, a central yellow keep, and a lower blue chamber perfect for ambushing unsuspecting ankles. It was a glorious, albeit colorful, testament to my superior vision. The humans would see a mess, a deconstructed toy. But I would see my castle. This ProSource product, I concluded, was a dreadful mat, but as a modular construction kit for a feline of discerning taste? Acceptable. Quite acceptable indeed.