Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented me with a product from "Melissa & Doug." I am familiar with this brand; it is responsible for the loud, clattering wooden objects the neighbor's small, sticky human throws around. This particular item appears to be a flat piece of wood with crude, brightly colored effigies of barnyard animals wedged into it. The presumed "play pattern" is for a less-developed mind to remove these pieces and put them back. For me, the appeal is not in the "solving," an insultingly simple task, but in the large wooden knobs atop each piece. They seem perfectly shaped for a swift, decisive paw-hook, sending the wooden cow skittering under the sofa. A momentary diversion, perhaps, but hardly a challenge worthy of my intellect. The board itself is a complete waste of lumber unless it can be repurposed as a scratching surface, which I doubt my human would appreciate.
Key Features
- Extra-thick wooden puzzle features jumbo wooden knobs for easy grasping
- Colorful farm artwork
- Bright colors and sweet illustrations of familiar objects
- Full-color, matching pictures appear underneath each piece
- Makes a great gift for infant and toddler girls and boys, ages 12 months to 2 years, for hands-on, screen-free play
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a transparent wrapping that crinkled with an almost-satisfying sound. My human placed it on the floor with a flourish, as if presenting a crown jewel. I, of course, was observing from the lofty perch of the armchair, mid-groom. A wooden plank. How... rustic. It was painted with a scene of such idyllic nonsense—a smiling sun, a red barn, a pig that looked far too pleased with its station in life. I descended with the calculated slowness of a king surveying a new, and likely disappointing, territory. My initial inspection confirmed my suspicions. It smelled of paint and sawdust, a commoner's perfume. The wooden creatures—a sheep, a horse, a duck—were trapped in their designated depressions. My human made a cooing sound and used their clumsy finger to pop out the cow, revealing an identical picture underneath. "See, Pete? You match them!" The sheer condescension. I gave them a look that could curdle milk and turned my attention back to the toy. The knob on the cow piece, however, was an interesting protuberance. With a lazy, almost dismissive flick of my paw, I hooked it. The piece flew out of its slot and slid beautifully across the hardwood, coming to a rest near the leg of the dining table. A satisfying *clack* echoed in the quiet room. This changed everything. This was not a puzzle. This was a launchpad. One by one, I dispatched the farm animals. The horse was next, a hefty piece that skidded in a perfect arc toward the kitchen. The pig followed, tumbling end over end like a vanquished foe. Soon, the board was empty, a desolate landscape of animal-shaped craters. My human clapped, entirely misinterpreting my act of systematic deconstruction as "play." I ignored them. The empty board lay before me. I sniffed the recessed shapes. Stepped onto it. It was cool against my paws. I circled once, then settled down, my gray form fitting surprisingly well across the empty farm scene. The slight indentations from the missing animals provided a novel and not-unpleasant texture against my tuxedoed belly. The pieces could be hunted later, in the dead of night. For now, this primitive device had become my new, avant-garde napping slab. It wasn't designed for me, but I had elevated its purpose. It would do.
