Pete's Expert Summary
My Human, in a fit of what can only be described as profound boredom, has acquired a box of plastic refuse. The packaging claims it will assemble into a "Mega Cyborg Hand," powered not by the delightful hum of a rechargeable battery that signals an impending laser chase, but by the tedious sloshing of water and air. It’s a project, which means hours of my Human being distracted by tiny, frustrating parts instead of focusing on my chin scratches. While the potential for a giant, clumsy hand to deliver treats or provide oversized pets is intriguing, I suspect the primary value lies in the spacious cardboard box it came in—a far superior and immediately gratifying piece of engineering.
Key Features
- Build your own awesome, wearable mechanical hand that you operate with your own fingers.
- No motors, no batteries — just the power of air pressure, water, and your own hands!
- Hydraulic pistons enable the mechanical fingers to open and close and grip objects with enough force to lift them. Every finger joint can be adjusted to different angles for precision movement.
- Three configurations: right hand, left hand, and claw-like; adjustable to fit virtually any human hand.
- Learn how pneumatic and hydraulic systems are used in industrial robots such as automobile components..2021 The Toy Association's STEAM Toy Of The Year Winner
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The construction phase was an ordeal. My sunbeam nap on the living room rug was repeatedly interrupted by the click of plastic and the low, guttural curses of the Human as another small, translucent tube slipped from their clumsy fingers. I watched from a safe distance, tail twitching in annoyance. This was not the promising crinkle of a new bag of treats or the silent unpacking of a feather wand. This was work. And it produced a monstrosity: a giant, skeletal, gray and blue appendage that looked like the limb of a long-extinct, and frankly very ugly, beast. When the Human finally strapped the contraption to their arm, I prepared for the worst. I expected loud whirring, terrifying lurching. Instead, there was only a soft, asthmatic *hisssss* as they squeezed a lever, and the plastic fingers curled into a clumsy fist. They used it to pick up a stray piece of kibble from the floor, a task they could have accomplished with their own perfectly functional—if less dramatic—fingers. I yawned, unimpressed. It was a pointless, oversized prosthetic for a creature already burdened by a lack of natural grace. I turned my back on the whole affair, deeming it a failure. My judgment, however, may have been premature. Later that evening, while lounging atop my cat tree, I watched the Human use the hand again. They were trying to retrieve one of my felt mice, which had been batted with surgical precision under the heavy armchair—a location I call the Lair of Lost Things. Their own arm was too thick to reach. But the Cyborg Hand, with its slender plastic digits, slid into the dusty darkness. Another soft *hiss*, a gentle clenching motion, and my mouse was rescued from its purgatory. The hand then extended toward me, depositing the toy at my paws. I stared at the plastic hand, then at my rescued mouse, then at the Human. A new understanding dawned. This wasn't a toy for *me* to chase. It was a tool for *them* to better serve me. It was a retriever of lost treasures, an extender of their limited reach, a silent, hydraulic servant dedicated to my convenience. The hissing was not the sound of a threat, but the whisper of tireless, mechanical servitude. Very well, Thames & Kosmos. Your plastic monstrosity may remain. It has proven its utility. Now, about that ball that rolled under the refrigerator... we have work to do.
