Pete's Expert Summary
It appears the Human has acquired another plastic slab designed to distract their bafflingly slow-to-develop offspring. They call it a "Prep for Preschool Activity Book," a device ostensibly for teaching foundational concepts like counting and shapes—skills I, of course, perfected in my first few weeks of life. While the touch-sensitive pages might offer a momentary diversion for a curious paw and the included erasable marker holds a certain chaotic promise, the repetitive, cheerful noises are likely to be an unwelcome intrusion on my meticulously scheduled naps. Ultimately, it seems to be a tool for a lesser intellect, a blatant waste of perfectly good batteries that could be powering a superior laser pointer.
Key Features
- Interactive book helps preschoolers prepare for school and build confidence with replayable learning activities
- Explore counting, colors, shapes, the alphabet and words with six touch-sensitive pages
- Practice letter writing, number matching, shape tracing and line drawing with six marker pages and an erasable pen; Dress for the Weather page encourages kids to choose clothes and draw them on the figure
- Build phonics skills with activities that help children find beginning letters and rhyming words
- Intended for ages 3+ years; requires 2 AA batteries; batteries included for demo purposes only; new batteries recommended for regular use
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived not in a crinkly bag or a cardboard box ripe for sitting, but in a rigid plastic shell, a prison from which the Human freed it with a series of loud snaps. They placed it on the floor, a garish rectangle of primary colors. It was, I deduced, an altar of some sort, and the small human was its designated acolyte. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail a metronome of silent judgment, as the child performed the initial rites. A single poke, and the altar spoke. "Let's learn our colors!" it chirped, its voice a saccharine offense to the ears. My initial disdain was profound. This was no toy; it was an indoctrination tool. "Touch the red square!" it commanded. The child obeyed. I, however, understood the subtext. It was a loyalty test. Would one pledge allegiance to this noisy oracle? I remained aloof, a gray-furred specter of silent opposition. Then came a new challenge from the machine: "Practice writing the letter 'P'!" The small human fumbled with the attached plastic wand, scratching a pathetic line. 'P'? An insult. 'P' is for Pete. 'P' is for 'Perfection.' 'P' is for 'Paws,' which I immediately began to groom with meticulous dignity to show this machine the true form of the letter 'P' in its perfect, curved elegance. The true test of its worth, however, came with the phonics page. "What rhymes with 'cat'?" the altar queried. The small human yelled, "Bat!" A simple, brutish answer. I knew the truth. What rhymes with 'cat'? A 'pat,' of course. A long, soothing stroke down my impossibly soft back. The altar was not asking a question; it was issuing a command to the universe. It was a coded message, meant only for the truly intelligent to decipher. This wasn't a learning tool for the child; it was a subliminal communication device designed to remind the Humans of their primary duties. I uncurled myself from the sofa and sauntered over. Ignoring the lights and the voice, I purposefully nudged the Human's hand with my head, then glanced meaningfully at the altar. The Human, bless their simple, programmable heart, seemed to understand. Their hand came down and gave me a long, satisfying scratch behind the ears. The noisy book had served its purpose. It was not a toy for me to play *with*, but a tool for me to *use*. It was a worthy, if unnecessarily loud, addition to the household. I would permit it to stay.
