Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home yet another contraption for the tiny, loud human. It appears to be a slab of wood with holes and corresponding wooden lumps painted to look like the noisy machines that rumble past my window. The gimmick, as I understand it, is that it screams with the sounds of the street—trucks, planes, the usual rabble—whenever a block is placed correctly. This is achieved via a "light sensor," a detail that piques my scientific curiosity. While the potential for disrupting my afternoon slumber with a sudden, unprompted siren is high, the possibility of batting a wooden motorcycle across the floor holds a certain, fleeting appeal. Ultimately, it seems like a primitive and noisy affair, likely to end up covered in drool and ignored under the sofa.
Key Features
- 8-piece wooden peg puzzle that plays vehicle sounds when pieces are placed in correct wells
- Full-color matching picture under each piece
- Place a puzzle piece correctly in the puzzle board to hear realistic sounds--lift to expose light sensor, then replace (cover sensor) to hear sound
- 8.75" x 11.75" x 1" puzzle board; 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 was liberated from its plastic prison with a crinkling sound that briefly got my hopes up, but the subsequent object was a disappointment. A flat board. Lumpy wooden shapes with little red pegs, perfect for snagging an unwary claw but otherwise useless. The small human, my primary rival for lap space, immediately fell upon it, mashing the pieces into the wrong holes with a singular, sticky-fingered focus. A cacophony erupted. A *vroom*, a *choo-choo*, a shrill *wee-woo*. I retreated to the arm of the sofa to observe, my tail giving a single, irritated twitch. It was chaos. But as I watched, my superior intellect began to deconstruct the process. The human had mentioned something about a "light sensor." I noticed that the sound didn't trigger when the small one simply fumbled with a piece *over* the hole. The noise only came when the piece was firmly seated, plunging the small well beneath it into darkness. A shadow. The blocking of light. The principle was insultingly simple, yet the small human hadn't grasped it. He was a creature of brute force; I am a master of subtlety. Later, when the small human was called away for a ritual cleansing of his hands and face, the puzzle lay abandoned on the rug. The silence was blissful, but my curiosity was a burning ember. I leapt down, landing with the silent grace my human so often praises. I ignored the clunky pieces themselves and focused on the empty wells. I selected the ambulance-shaped hole and deliberately, precisely, placed my soft gray paw directly over the small, dark circle at the bottom. *WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO!* The sound blared, sharp and clear. I lifted my paw. Silence. I pressed it down again. *WEE-WOO!* It was glorious. I was a conductor, summoning the sounds of urban panic with a simple, elegant gesture. I trotted over to the train-shaped hole. *CHUGGA-CHUGGA-CHOO-CHOO!* I was a god of transportation. The human returned to find me sitting calmly a few feet away, grooming a foreleg as if nothing had happened. She looked at the puzzle, then at me, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. I met her gaze with a slow blink that communicated only deep, philosophical boredom. The toy, as a toy, is beneath me. The pieces are poorly weighted for skittering, and the art is garish. But as a remote-control device for generating sudden, startling noises to assert my presence? For that purpose, and that purpose alone, it is a masterpiece of engineering.
