Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human has brought home yet another "educational" device from the Melissa & Doug toy empire, clearly intended for the less-refined palate of a toddler. It's a garishly-colored wooden board with various musical instrument shapes that fit into cutouts. The gimmick, I've deduced, is that when one of these clunky wooden pieces is placed correctly, it emits a sound. The mechanism involves a light sensor, which is a mildly clever touch, I'll admit. While the promise of "high-quality" sounds is likely an exaggeration destined to grate on my sensitive ears, I can see some potential. The small, peg-handled pieces look perfectly sized for batting under the heaviest piece of furniture in the room, creating a satisfyingly long-term mystery for the large, clumsy humans to solve. It's either a future source of profound annoyance or a new tool for chaos. The jury is still out.
Key Features
- Place puzzle pieces correctly in the puzzle board to hear realistic musical sounds
- Lift to expose light sensor, then replace (cover sensor) to hear sound
- High-quality recording sounds are crisp and clear.
- 2 AAA batteries required, not included
- Makes a great gift for toddlers and preschoolers, ages 2 to 5, for hands-on, screen-free play
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived on a Tuesday, a day usually reserved for long, uninterrupted naps in the western sunbeam. Its arrival was heralded by the crinkling of plastic and the cooing of my human, who placed it on the floor with an air of great ceremony. It was a flat, wooden rectangle of noise traps. I watched from the arm of the sofa as the small human who sometimes visits was instructed on its use. He'd lift a piece—a garish yellow violin—and then place it back. A tinny, scratchy violin sound would erupt from a hidden speaker. My ears flattened. This was an assault. For an hour, I was subjected to a concert performed by a phantom orchestra of questionable talent. A piano, a drum, a xylophone—each sound an offense to the quiet dignity of my home. The small human eventually grew bored, as they do, and left the wooden instruments scattered across the rug like the aftermath of a tiny, silent battle. The board itself, now pockmarked with empty, dark holes, lay abandoned. My curiosity, a formidable beast, finally outweighed my disdain. I hopped down, my paws silent on the rug, and approached the scene. I sniffed at a cutout. Nothing. It was just a shallow, dark well. I peered into it, then glanced at the corresponding wooden piece lying nearby. The humans thought the sound came from putting the piece in. But I am Pete. I notice things. It wasn't the *pressure* that triggered the noise; it was the sudden absence of *light*. I tested my theory. Extending a single, soft gray paw, I deliberately covered one of the sensors, plunging it into darkness. A triumphant trumpet blast erupted, making me jump back a full foot, my fur standing on end. Ah, I understood now. It was a box of programmable ambushes. A slow, pleased purr rumbled in my chest. This was not a toy for a simple-minded kitten. This was an instrument of precision, a device for the discerning agent of chaos. Later that evening, as my main human dozed in his favorite armchair, I selected the drum piece. It had the most jarring, unpleasant sound of the lot. I nudged it with my nose, batting it across the floor until it was just beside the chair. Then, with a deft flick of my paw, I flipped it over and into its slot. *CRASH-BAM-TISH!* The human jolted awake, sputtering, looking around in wild confusion. I was already halfway across the room, meticulously grooming a patch of immaculate white fur on my chest, the very picture of innocence. Oh yes, this puzzle was most worthy. It had earned a permanent place in my arsenal.
