Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has brought home what appears to be a stationary, one-eyed beast from a brand called "Blue Marble," which sounds suspiciously like a toy for a lesser creature. This "National Geographic Microscope" is an apparatus for staring intently at things that are already dead or immobile, like plants and rocks, which frankly, I could not care less about unless I am digging them up. It has big, clumsy knobs for imprecise human fingers and a soft eyepiece, a pathetic attempt to bribe me with comfort. The lights might offer a moment's distraction, and the various small tools—pipette, tweezers—could be promising for batting under the refrigerator. However, the core activity of looking at tiny, boring specks seems an egregious waste of time that could be spent monitoring the bird situation from the windowsill. The only redeeming feature is the potential to use a blank slide to examine a sample of my own perfect fur, thus confirming what we all already know.
Key Features
- KIDS WILL LOVE THIS MICROSCOPE - Large focus knobs, a soft-touch eyepiece, and an adjustable platform make it easy to keep specimens positioned just right. Three levels of magnification and lights above and below ensure a great view, every time!
- FASCINATING SPECIMENS - Kids get 6 prepared plant slides in this microscope kit, along with 6 rocks and minerals, and 6 blank slides to prepare at home! They'll be entertained for hours as they explore the microscopic world with this STEM lab kit!
- A COMPLETE SCIENCE EXPERIMENT KIT - With a pipette, specimen dish, tweezers, and easy-to-follow instructions, kids will be able to conduct tons of science experiments, investigating the world around them just like real scientists!
- ENTERTAINING LAB GUIDE - Kids will use their microscope to the fullest with the included lab guide, which has viewing activities for several different types of specimens, a super scientist game, and merit badge stickers for a job well done!
- HIGH-QUALITY EDUCATIONAL TOYS - We're proud to make the highest quality hands-on science toys, and all our products are backed by exceptional service. If your experience is less than stellar, let us know and we'll make things right!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived bearing the noble yellow rectangle of the "National Geographic," a symbol I associate with hushed narration over footage of my wilder, more successful cousins hunting wildebeest. My interest was piqued. Was this a portal to the Serengeti? A device for projecting laser-gazelles onto the wall? The human, with his usual lack of ceremony, unboxed it and revealed... a lumpy, plastic tower with one sad, glassy eye. He called it a microscope. For hours, the smaller human fawned over it, looking at little glass rectangles containing bits of dead onion. The whole affair was an insult to the brand. That night, under the silver glow of the moon, I conducted my own investigation. I leaped silently onto the desk where the contraption stood guard over its box of slides. A faint hum emanated from it; the human had left it on. A pool of light shone up through the viewing platform, like a tiny stage for a flea circus. First, I nudged the included tweezers with my paw. Flimsy. My claws are far superior implements for delicate work. I then turned my attention to the main device. The large knobs turned easily as I pressed my head against them, a crude but effective method. My initial plan was to simply push it off the desk, a fitting end for such a disappointment. But then, curiosity, that most troublesome of feline instincts, took hold. I peered into the soft eyepiece. Before me was not my familiar living room, but a bizarre, glowing green world of stacked, luminous bricks. It was the onion skin. For a moment, I was mesmerized, lost in the alien geometry. It was like staring into the soul of a vegetable, a profoundly unsettling and pointless experience. I backed away, shaking my head to clear the vision of chlorophyll prisons. This tool was not for adventurers. It was for catalogers of the mundane. However, an idea sparked. I located one of my own shed whiskers, a flawless silver spear, and nudged it onto one of the blank slides. After a bit of clumsy maneuvering with my nose on the focus knobs, I looked again. There it was: my whisker, magnified into a shimmering, powerful column, a monument of keratin perfection, unblemished and majestic. The microscope, I concluded, was a failure as a toy. It offered no chase, no thrill. But as a scientific instrument for the sole purpose of confirming my own flawlessness on a cellular level, it was, I begrudgingly admit, adequate. I left the whisker on display for the human to find, a lesson in true magnificence.
