Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe my sophisticated, razor-sharp intellect requires "stimulation" from a plastic brick designed for creatures that can't yet control their own limbs. This "CoComelon Learning Book," as it's called, is a garish assault on the senses, apparently created by a brand named after a fruit with a head injury. It purports to teach with sounds and music, featuring pages one can "turn" and buttons one can press. While the tactical satisfaction of pressing a button to elicit a response is a universal constant, the thought of being subjected to a tinny rendition of "Old MacDonald" or the squawking of lesser beasts is frankly insulting. It is, at its core, a noisy paperweight that will likely end up shoved under the sofa, and deservedly so.
Key Features
- Awards and Recognitions: 2022 Walmart Toy Catalog.
- Includes: CoComelon Learning Book electronic toy.
- The CoComelon Learning Book electronic toy features 3 modes of interactive play, including numbers, music, and animal sounds. Kids and parents will have fun singing along to “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” while turning the pages.
- Your toddler will love learning with JJ from the popular preschool show, CoComelon.
- Play along with your child as they learn and mimic farm animal sounds. Flip through 6 pages of images of JJ with farm animals, and press the 3 buttons to hear numbers, music, or animal sounds.
- With 50+ learning phrases to help develop core learning skills: counting, animal sounds, and music.
- Bright colors, big buttons, a familiar song, and animal sounds make learning fun!
- 2 x AA batteries required (batteries included).
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The crime scene was my favorite sunbeam on the Persian rug. The victim: a single, perfectly crisp salmon treat, vanished from its designated waiting spot. The prime suspect was, as always, that oafish Golden Retriever who shares my staff. But I, Pete, operate on evidence, not assumption. And the only witness was the new object the Human had placed nearby—a loud, plastic monstrosity called a "Learning Book." It sat there, beaming with primary-colored innocence. A perfect cover. I approached with the silent tread befitting my gray tuxedo. My investigation began with a cautious paw-pat on the large, yellow musical note. A horrifyingly cheerful tune erupted, something about a farm. A dead end. This witness was clearly trying to distract me with nonsense. I turned my attention to the pages, flipping one with a flick of my claw. A cartoon pig stared back with vacant eyes. I pressed the 'animal' button. "Oink, oink!" it squealed. The pig was playing dumb. Typical. I moved on to the next page, a cow. I pressed the button. "Mooooo," it droned, a low, vacant sound. A sound eerily reminiscent of the groan the Retriever makes just before he lurches into motion to steal something. The final page revealed a sheep. "Baa, baa!" it cried, a high-pitched, witless bleat. It was the exact sound the Retriever made last Tuesday when he got his head stuck in the laundry basket. The pieces were clicking into place. This wasn't a book; it was an audio archive of idiocy, a sonic profile of my chief suspect. I left the plastic informant on the rug, its job done. I stalked to the dog's bed, where the culprit was performing his worst "I'm sleeping" act, a faint fishy aroma hanging in the air around his muzzle. I fixed him with a stare and let out a single, accusatory meow. He knew that I knew. As for the "Learning Book," it had proven its worth, not as a toy, but as a surprisingly effective forensic tool. I will permit it to remain. For now. One never knows when one will need to consult a library of incriminating sounds.
