Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a collection of silent, oversized effigies they refer to as "Jumbo Safari Animals." Apparently, these are for the smaller, less coordinated human, intended to teach it about the glorious wilderness I only see through the window. The collection features eight imposters—a tiger, a lion, and other various beasts of burden and menace—all rendered in a "soft vinyl." This material is mildly intriguing, as it suggests a more satisfying mouthfeel than the usual hard plastic junk, and the lack of sharp edges is a professional courtesy I appreciate. Still, their sheer size makes them poor candidates for a proper chase, and while the hippo looks like it could serve as a passable pillow, this whole "educational" endeavor seems like a colossal waste of energy that could be better spent napping in a sunbeam.
Key Features
- 8 JUMBO WILD ANIMALS: Realistically detailed, hand-painted animal set, designed for little hands and big imaginations! Includes seven large animals, giraffe, elephant, crocodile, gorilla, hippo, lion, tiger and zebra in a carry box for handy storage
- SOFT, STRONG & SAFE: Made from premium vinyl, which is softer than plastic and non-toxic. Sturdy enough to withstand child play, but not too hard that they’ll damage walls or floors. Smooth seams with no sharp or rough edges
- PERFECT FOR AGES 18M & UP: This jungle animal set is an ideal gift choice for boys and girls and is excellent for educational purposes. Teach young children about different kinds of wild animals, encouraging motor skills, hand-eye co-ordination, and creative expression
- MY LITTLE ZOO KEEPER: The animal figurines are the ideal jungle, safari or zoo make-believe play props. Turn your child’s natural fascination about animals into a curiosity about wildlife with this educational animal set
- WILDLIFE FUN: Keep your youngster entertained for hours while learning! Add to other animal toy sets allowing your kids to create and explore
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with the usual fanfare—the tearing of tape, the rustle of cardboard, sounds that typically herald the arrival of my gourmet food delivery. My interest soured when the Human pulled out not a bag of salmon-flavored morsels, but a plastic gorilla with dead, painted-on eyes. It was soon joined by a garish menagerie, laid out on the rug for the inspection of the tiny human, who immediately tried to feed the crocodile a block of wood. Amateurs. I watched from my perch on the armchair, tail twitching in mild irritation. These were "Learning Minds" toys, a name so profoundly ironic for such a vacant-looking crew that it almost made me smirk. Later, after the tiny human had been dispatched for its nap, the interlopers remained. They lay scattered on the rug, a silent, frozen stampede. Curiosity, that most vexing of my instincts, finally got the better of me. I hopped down, my paws making no sound on the wood floor, and approached the scene. The air smelled faintly of vinyl, a clean, sterile scent unlike the thrilling musk of a real foe. My first subject was the elephant. It was massive, gray, and offensively placid. I gave its trunk a tentative bat. It wobbled slightly but refused to fall, its weightiness a point of surprising quality. This was no flimsy piece of junk. I moved on to the tiger, a supposed distant cousin. The stripes were painted on with a certain clumsy charm, but it lacked the dignity, the sheer presence, of a true feline. I rubbed my cheek against its flank, marking it as my own property despite its obvious inferiority. The vinyl was smooth and yielded slightly, a texture that was not unpleasant. The lion, however, was a disgrace. I nudged it with my nose, expecting it to topple, but it held its ground. I decided to assert my dominance more directly, placing a paw on its head and pushing it over. It fell with a soft, dull *thump*—no startling clatter, no risk of alerting the slumbering giants in the other room. A well-designed, if soulless, object. My final inspection was of the crocodile. Its long, textured back was an open invitation. I walked alongside it, rubbing my entire body against its ridges. It was a sublime scratching experience, far superior to the leg of the coffee table. These figures, I concluded, were frauds. They were not animals, not rivals, not even proper toys. They were furniture. Specialized, multi-purpose, cheek-scratching, head-propping, non-skittering furniture. While they would never earn my respect as playthings, they had earned a place in my kingdom. The hippo, with its broad, accommodating back, would make an excellent throne from which to survey my domain. They were keepers. For now.
