Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a box full of tiny, brightly colored plastic bits and something called a "96 Page Color Manual." They call it a "Physics Pro Science Kit." From what I can gather, this is not a toy for felines of discerning taste, but rather a complicated puzzle for bipedal apes to distract themselves from their primary duty: attending to my every need. It allows them to build contraptions like "wind tunnels" and "hydraulic lifts." While the sheer number of small, losable pieces holds a certain chaotic appeal for batting under the sofa, the overall concept seems like an egregious waste of time and opposable thumbs. The box, however, is of a respectable size and sturdiness, and will likely serve as an excellent napping vestibule once the useless plastic has been discarded.
Key Features
- Build some really spectacular models and devices, such as a wind tunnel, pneumatic shocks, and a hydraulic lift.
- Begin your study of more advanced topics in physics, including fluid dynamics, energy, oscillation, hydraulics, and Pneumatics.
- You will investigate how air and water rest and flow, what they can carry and how they move.
- More than 212 parts are included in this kit.
- Learn why a streamlined shape lets a car drive faster and how power plants convert a current of water into electrical current.
- Study of more advanced topics in physics, including fluid dynamics, energy, oscillation, hydraulics and pneumatics
- You can now build some really spectacular models and devices, such as a wind tunnel, pneumatic shocks and a hydraulic lift
- With experiments and models, you will find out what forces work on them and what kinds of energy they possess
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The monstrosity arrived on a Tuesday, a day typically reserved for sunbeam rotation and contemplating the existential void in the food bowl. My human heaved the box onto the living room floor with a grunt of satisfaction, oblivious to the fact that its loud, plastic-y scent was an affront to my delicate nostrils. For hours, they hunched over, their brow furrowed in concentration, consulting the sacred texts of the "manual." I watched from the arm of the chair, a silent, gray-furred judge passing a sentence of profound disappointment. It wasn't a feather. It wasn't a laser. It was an exercise in futility. By evening, a strange scaffold of tubes and syringes stood on the coffee table. My human, beaming with a pride entirely disproportionate to the achievement, used one syringe to push water through a tube, causing a small platform on the other end to rise. They placed a little plastic figure on it, lifting it up and down. "See, Pete? Hydraulics!" they chirped, as if I were some common alley scavenger impressed by parlor tricks. I responded with a slow, deliberate blink, the highest form of feline contempt. But later, as the house fell dark and silent, I leapt onto the table for a closer inspection. I nudged the syringe with my nose. The platform moved. I nudged it again. An idea, sharp and brilliant, pierced the fog of my cynicism. I looked from the crude lifting device to the kitchen pantry door, behind which the forbidden treasures were kept: the bag of freeze-dried minnows, perched mockingly on the highest shelf, far beyond my most ambitious leap. This pathetic toy wasn't a toy at all. It was a prototype. My human thinks they have purchased a simple educational kit. They are mistaken. They have provided me with a blueprint for a revolution. This "hydraulic lift" is merely Version 1.0 of the Pete-Evator, a device that will soon grant me access to the promised land of premium snacks. I nudged the lever one last time, my mind already drafting schematics and calculating the necessary fluid pressure to lift a nine-pound cat of superior fluff and intellect. The toy, in its raw form, is a bore. But as a proof of concept for my glorious ascension? It is, I must admit, absolutely priceless.
