Pete's Expert Summary
Honestly, Human, must you be so literal? You see the brand name "Fisher-Price" and "Toddler" in the title and you think this is for *me*? This is a gaudy plastic tray with holes shaped like crude animal caricatures, designed to assault the ears with grating songs every time one of the chunky pieces is placed correctly. I am a sophisticated creature of refined taste, not a drooling infant who needs to be musically patronized for figuring out that the cow-shaped block goes in the cow-shaped hole. While the individual animal pieces might possess a certain... bat-able quality for skittering across the hardwood and disappearing under the credenza, the electronic cacophony it promises is a threat to the sanctity of my afternoon nap. The presence of a "Puppy's button" is a particular affront. Keep it.
Key Features
- Electronic toy puzzle with 5 chunky animal shapes to grasp, sort and match
- When baby sorts an animal shape into its correct slot, they’re rewarded with a unique song introducing the animal's name and the sound it makes
- Press Puppy’s button for fun phrases and songs
- Puzzle play helps develop problem-solving skills and strengthens hand-eye coordination
- For infants and toddlers ages 12-36 months
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object was an insult, delivered in a cardboard box. The Human placed it on the floor with a triumphant flourish, as if presenting a freshly caught salmon. I, however, saw it for what it was: a bright plastic rectangle of pure condescension. The label "Fisher-Price" confirmed my suspicions. This was not a tribute; it was an intelligence test for the intellectually destitute. Five prisoners—a pig, a cow, a sheep, and other barnyard simpletons—were trapped in their plastic forms, waiting to be slotted into their designated cells. And in the center, a smug-looking puppy stared out, its button-nose a clear provocation. My human, bless their simple heart, demonstrated its function. They picked up the misshapen chicken and dropped it into its corresponding cutout. The device immediately shrieked, "Bawk bawk bawk! That's a chicken!" I flattened my ears. The sound was a crime against acoustics. This was not a toy. It was a re-education camp. The Human expected me to participate, to learn the rudimentary sounds of lesser beasts. I would do no such thing. My mission was not to solve their puerile puzzle, but to liberate the prisoners from their noisy warden. With the focus and precision of a seasoned hunter, I ignored the puzzle entirely. I selected my first target: the pig. It was chunky, smooth, and perfectly weighted. A single, elegant flick of my paw sent it careening across the room, where it ricocheted off a table leg and vanished into the dark realm beneath the bookshelf. One by one, I liberated the others. The cow slid into the heating vent. The sheep wedged itself perfectly between the sofa cushions. The Human sighed, a sound far more pleasant than the toy's electronic squawking. Only the board remained. I approached it, circled it twice, and then sat directly upon the puppy's smirking face, my fluffy tail covering the speaker grill. I claimed it. It was a slightly lumpy, undignified throne, but it was now a silent one. The prisoners were free, scattered to the far corners of the den where they would serve a higher purpose as hidden treasures for me to rediscover at 3 a.m. The toy itself was a failure, but its scattered components? Worthy. I began to purr, the only sound in the room now one of my own making. Victory was quiet. And soft.
