Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured a plastic vessel filled with what they call "Backyard Bugs Counters." The manufacturer, "Learning Resources," has the distinct sound of a brand that has never known the simple joy of chasing a sunbeam. Ostensibly, these are for a small, uncoordinated human to learn the tedious art of counting by manipulating dozens of rubbery insects. However, my superior intellect sees past this educational facade. Seventy-two small, colorful, tactilely-inviting prey facsimiles. Spiders, dragonflies, beetles... the sheer volume and variety present a strategic opportunity for recreational hunting that is almost too good to be true. The so-called "learning" is an irrelevant byproduct; the true value lies in the potential for these "counters" to be batted, chased, and ultimately lost under the heaviest furniture.
Key Features
- These creepy crawly counters turn learning early math concepts into fun adventures
- Master early math standards such as grouping, sorting, patterning, classifying objects, and counting
- Set of 72 counters in six colors includes grasshopper, bumblebee, beetle, spider, dragonfly, and caterpillar; all packaged in a reusable plastic tub
- Tactilely-inviting, soft, rubber bug counters encourage hands-on learning. Counters can be combined with other counter sets for endless playing possibilities! Ideal for ages 3+
- GIVE THE GIFT OF LEARNING: Whether you’re shopping for holidays, birthdays, or just because, toys from Learning Resources help you discover new learning fun every time you give a gift! Ideal gift for Halloween, Christmas, Stocking Stuffers, Easter Baskets or even for Homeschool.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The scene was a catastrophe of color splashed across the neutral tones of my living room rug. The Human and a smaller, shriller version I’ve come to know as "The Nephew" had upended the clear plastic tub, unleashing a plague of rubbery arthropods. I watched from my perch on the armchair, a silent, gray-furred judge presiding over a court of chaos. "No, put the *blue* ones in the pile," my Human said, her voice strained with the effort of imparting logic upon a being who was currently trying to fit a yellow beetle up his own nose. It was a fool's errand. They were sorting by color, an aesthetic so painfully primitive I almost had to yawn. Once The Nephew was recalled by his parental unit and my Human was left sighing at the kaleidoscopic mess, I descended for a closer inspection. My work could now begin. I padded silently into the field of plastic carnage, my tail giving a slow, deliberate twitch. The air was thick with the scent of soft plastic and shattered human intentions. I nudged a green dragonfly with my nose. It had a pleasing weight and its wings, while stubby, offered a decent surface for a preliminary bat. I sent it skittering toward the hallway. Promising. This was not a job for amateurs. This required a system, a proper feline taxonomy based not on hue or phylum, but on playability. First, the spiders. Their eight-legged forms were ideal for hooking a claw and flicking them into the dark, mysterious lands beneath the sofa. One by one, I dispatched all twelve of them to their new subterranean home. Next, the caterpillars. Their long, segmented bodies were perfect for gripping in my teeth and thrashing with violent, predatory glee. They were designated as "shake-and-kill" practice and piled neatly behind a curtain. The stout, rounded beetles were clearly for transport; I selected a particularly vibrant orange one, carried it upstairs, and deposited it ceremoniously in the center of a freshly made bed. Finally, the grasshoppers and dragonflies. These were the high-flyers, the acrobats. Their shapes were destined for aerial maneuvers. I crouched low, a tuxedoed shadow against the beige carpet, and with a flick of my paw, sent a purple grasshopper sailing through the air. I leaped, twisting, and batted it with my other paw before it could land. A perfect mid-air intercept. The Humans called them "counters," a term of gross simplification. They were not counters. They were a comprehensive training and enrichment apparatus. My Human had failed to teach The Nephew how to sort, but I had successfully cataloged my new assets according to a far more important metric: fun.
