Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has procured a flat, brightly colored plank of wood, apparently to teach their loud, clumsy offspring how to count. It smells faintly of trees and despair. The concept seems to be that you remove a wooden shape, and when you put it back, a disembodied voice shouts a number at you. While the garish colors offend my sophisticated palate, the potential for causing random, unexplainable noises from across the room does hold a certain appeal. The pieces themselves seem a decent size for batting under the sofa, a noble and time-honored tradition. Still, it lacks the visceral thrill of a real feather wand and seems destined to be an educational tool for a creature who still thinks pulling my tail is a hilarious pastime. A potential nuisance, but with a slight possibility for calculated annoyance.
Key Features
- See and hear the numbers 0-20 with this 21-piece wooden Alphabet Sound Puzzle with brightly colored numerals
- Lift to expose light sensor, then replace (cover sensor) to hear sound
- Pictures under pieces help teach counting and reinforce the relationship between quantities and numerals
- TIP: Puzzle has light-activated sensors; for best results, expose the sensor by removing a piece in a brightly lit room, then make the sound play by replacing the piece in the board; 2 AAA batteries required, not included
- Makes a great gift for preschoolers, ages 3 to 5, for hands-on, screen-free play
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a crinkly prison of transparent plastic, which was, for a moment, the most interesting thing about it. My human, however, quickly liberated the wooden slab and presented it to the Small Human, a creature whose primary functions are noise and dropping food. I watched from the arm of the chair, feigning sleep, as they poked and prodded at it. A piece would be lifted, then clumsily slammed back into place, followed by a tinny, cheerful voice shouting a number. "THREE!" it would declare. "EIGHT!" I was unimpressed. It was a noisemaker, and not a particularly subtle one. Later that evening, long after the lesser beings had gone to their sleeping chambers, I descended to investigate. The house was cloaked in the soft glow of a single lamp, the perfect lighting for my work. The wooden plank lay abandoned on the rug. I sniffed it. Sawdust. I nudged a green piece marked '5' with my nose. It slid easily out of its hole. I peered into the dark recess, expecting a hidden treat. Nothing. Disgusted, I flicked the piece back into its slot with a casual paw-pat. "FIVE!" the plank squawked into the silence. I jumped back, tail puffed to twice its normal size, my ears flat against my head. What sorcery was this? Who spoke? I scanned the room for intruders, but there were none. My initial shock subsided, replaced by a cold, calculating curiosity. I am a cat of science, after all. I approached again, more cautiously this time. I used a single, extended claw to hook the edge of the '11' piece and lifted it. Silence. I looked at the hole, then up at the lamp. A theory began to form in my magnificent brain. I placed my paw directly over the empty hole, blocking the light, then put the number back. Nothing. I slid the piece out again, let the light hit the sensor, and then pushed it back in. "ELEVEN!" it chirped. I had deciphered its secret. It wasn't magic; it was a simple machine that responded to my command over light and shadow. This was no mere toy. This was an instrument. A device for commanding attention. I spent the next twenty minutes conducting my orchestra of numbers, sliding pieces in and out with the deliberate rhythm of a maestro. "ONE!"... "SEVENTEEN!"... "FOUR!" A muffled "Pete, for goodness sake!" drifted from the human's bedroom. I paused, listened, and then deliberately slid the '20' piece into its home. "TWENTY!" it announced triumphantly. The plank was worthy. Not as a plaything, but as a tool. A beautiful, wooden, wonderfully irritating tool.
