Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in her infinite and baffling wisdom, has acquired a box of... rocks. Yes, rocks. From a brand called "Dancing Bear," which sounds like a clumsy oaf, not a purveyor of fine feline amusements. The concept, as I understand it, involves the loud and violent smashing of these dusty, lumpy spheres to reveal some sort of glittery interior. While the sheer noise and disruption to my napping schedule are an immediate and grave concern, I must admit a certain morbid curiosity. The resulting small, hard, skittering fragments might prove moderately entertaining for batting across the hardwood floor, but the entire affair seems like a great deal of effort for a very mundane outcome. It's essentially a pre-chewed meal, but for geology.
Key Features
- FUN GEODE SCIENCE KIT includes 25 break-your-own Moroccan geodes, educational information, and instructions sheet.
- 25 EXTRA SMALL, EASY TO OPEN, MOROCCAN GEODES-sizes range from 1-1.5 inches. Crack them open and find crystals inside! 90% are hollow with crystals and and a few may be solid with quartz or calcite inside.
- MONEY BACK GUARANTEE-if you are not completely satisfied, Dancing Bear will gladly refund your money plus shipping both ways.
- ASSEMBLED IN THE USA by our dedicated team in Eugene, OR.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with the scent of a dusty cave and the clatter of a thousand tiny failures. My human called it a "science kit," which is her word for "a reason to make a mess in the living room." She placed a small, gray, unassuming stone on the floor. It was dull, vaguely round, and possessed all the charisma of a piece of kibble left out overnight. I gave it a cursory sniff. It smelled of nothing, which is somehow more offensive than smelling of something bad. I was preparing to turn my back on this whole pathetic display when she produced the Hammer. My ears went flat. My tail, a perfect and expressive instrument, froze mid-swish. The Hammer is a tool of pure chaos, a bringer of loud noises and trembling floors, usually reserved for hanging pictures of her strange, hairless relatives. She raised it, her face a mask of concentration. I braced for the inevitable, uncivilized *BANG*. It came, sharp and shocking, a sound that split the peaceful afternoon in two. But instead of rubble, the little gray stone fell open like a bizarre, mineral egg. I crept closer, my cynicism warring with my curiosity. Inside the fractured shell was not more grayness, but a miniature grotto. A tiny cavern of light, lined with countless, glittering teeth of pure crystal that drank the afternoon sun and threw it back in sharp, dazzling slivers. It was a secret. The rock had been holding a secret. My human cracked another, and another. Each one held a different world inside: some were dense with white frost, others a pale, ghostly purple. This was not play. This was a summoning. My witless human, in her blundering way, was cracking open portals to the Under-Earth, releasing tiny, silent spirits of crystalline light into our home. The floor was now a battlefield of broken worlds and captured starlight. I would not bat at these. One does not *bat* at a fallen star. I sat, my white bib immaculate against the dusty debris, and watched the strange, loud ritual, guarding the very air from the powerful magic my human had so carelessly unleashed. It is a messy and disruptive business, this portal-opening, but I must concede: it is far from boring.
