Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a plastic slab they call a "book." It's from a company named LeapFrog, a name that suggests a juvenile and frankly undignified level of activity. The contraption is designed for human kittens, featuring garish pictures of my fellow animals and promising to make their noises at the press of a paw. The potential for insult here is high; a poorly rendered roar or a tinny meow would be a grave offense. However, the sheer variety of creatures, from forest to ocean, offers a slim chance of auditory stimulation. It could, perhaps, serve as a primitive hunting simulator if the sounds are even remotely convincing. Otherwise, it is merely a colorful noisemaker destined to be pushed off the coffee table.
Key Features
- Six double-sided, interactive pages feature animals from 12 categories such as the forest, the ocean and the shore
- Explore three play modes that teach about animal names, animal sounds and fun facts
- This fully bilingual book lets kids learn about animals and sing songs in English and Spanish
- Fun facts about animals provide an early introduction to science concepts
- Intended for ages 18+ months; requires 2 AA batteries; batteries included for demo purposes only; new batteries recommended for regular use
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object arrived not for me, but for the Small Human, my chief rival for sunbeams and chin scratches. It was a block of garish green plastic, and it smelled of a factory, not of knowledge. I watched from my perch on the armchair, feigning disinterest as the Small Human mashed its sticky fingers against the pictures. A cacophony of digital squawks filled the air—a so-called lion, a purported monkey. It was an auditory crime scene. I had already condemned it as worthless clutter. Later, when silence had blessedly returned to the living room, I descended for a closer inspection. The Small Human had abandoned the device, its short attention span a reliable ally. I circled the plastic thing. The pictures were flat, lifeless. There was no texture, no scent of the wild. It was an encyclopedia of insults. Yet, there was a small switch on the side, one the Small Human had missed. A curious icon of a globe was next to it. With a delicate, practiced flick of a single claw, I nudged it. A new voice, smooth and unfamiliar, spoke from the device. "¡Hola! ¡Aprendamos sobre los animales!" My ears, which can detect a can of tuna being opened from three rooms away, perked. This was new. I tentatively pressed my paw on the picture of the tiger. "¡Tigre!" the voice declared, followed by a roar that was, shockingly, identical to the English one. A lazy cost-saving measure, no doubt. But then I pressed the bird. "Pájaro." The name was a melody. I pressed the cat. "Gato." The word felt rounder, softer in my ears than its English equivalent. I spent the next hour in quiet contemplation, not as a predator, but as a scholar. I was no longer interrogating the toy for its prey-like qualities, but for its linguistic nuances. Dog, perro. Pig, cerdo. Fish, pez. Each tap was a lesson. The device was not a window into the souls of these animals, but a strange portal into the minds of the humans who name them. It was still a ridiculous toy, and the sounds were still an abomination. But it had taught me a new way to say my own name. For a creature of my intellect, any tool that expands the mind, even a plastic one, has earned a temporary stay of execution. It can remain. For now.