Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe my life lacks a certain rustic charm, an assumption made evident by this... thing. It is a flat, wooden plank from the Melissa & Doug establishment, a brand I associate with sturdy, dreadfully earnest toys for small, uncoordinated humans. This particular plank is carved with animal-shaped depressions and comes with corresponding plugs. The gimmick, as far as I can tell, is that when a piece is placed correctly, it rewards the user with a tinny, electronic squawk from that ghastly "Old MacDonald" tune. While the potential for swatting the little pegged pieces across the floor holds some minor appeal, the true intrigue lies in the light-activated sensors. The possibility of orchestrating a symphony of barnyard noise simply by casting my magnificent shadow over the board is a concept I find... promisingly disruptive.
Key Features
- Wooden peg puzzle that plays Old MacDonald song when pieces are placed
- Pictures on pieces match pictures on beautifully crafted puzzle board
- Farmer starts song, animals complete their verses; song lyrics included on puzzle
- Helps teach hand-eye coordination and problem solving and helps develop auditory processing skills
- 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 object arrived with little fanfare, presented on the living room rug like a sacrifice to some garish, primary-colored god. My human demonstrated its function with the sort of exaggerated delight reserved for the very young or the very simple. They placed the cow piece into its cow-shaped home, and the device bleated a pathetic "Moo." I yawned, displaying the full, threatening expanse of my fangs, and turned my back on the pathetic display. It was a puzzle. A tool for teaching toddlers that a pig does not, in fact, fit into a chicken-shaped hole. It was beneath me. Hours later, long after the human had retired to stare at their larger, more interesting light-box, a sliver of moonlight caught the puzzle where it lay abandoned. My nightly patrol of the domain led me past it. I paused, not out of interest, but out of a sense of duty to inspect all new additions to my territory. I sniffed the wooden farmer piece; it smelled faintly of varnish and disappointment. I nudged it with my nose. As I did, my head blocked the moonlight streaming into the empty pig-shaped void next to it. Suddenly, an aggressive "OINK!" shattered the quiet. I sprang back, fur on end, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. It wasn't the piece. It was the darkness. It was my *shadow*. A slow, predatory grin spread across my face. This was no mere puzzle. This was an instrument. A control panel. I was no longer a cat; I was a sorcerer of the sonic arts. I deliberately, gracefully, placed a single, soft gray paw over the sheep-shaped hole. "BAA!" it cried out. I lifted my paw. Silence. I placed it over the horse. "NEIGH!" I began to play it, not as a puzzle to be solved, but as a bizarre organ of chaos. Paw down, paw up. Oink. Baa. Moo. I ignored the farmer entirely, for his song was tedious and I am the star of this, and every, show. My human found me like that the next morning, sitting regally beside the board, methodically pressing the "buttons" with one paw, creating a cacophony that was mine and mine alone. They laughed, assuming I was enjoying a simple toy. They were wrong. I was practicing. I was rehearsing the symphony that would greet them every morning at 4:30 AM. This wooden plank wasn't a gift for me; it was a gift for them, a promise of the glorious, farm-themed torment to come. It would do.
