Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured a rather large and garish plastic grid from the Mattel corporation, a purveyor of toys for underdeveloped bipeds. The premise, as I understand it, involves hurling small, squishy sacks at it to flip rotating squares in a rudimentary game of tic-tac-toe. While the noisy, clattering frame is a potential disruption to a perfectly good nap, the sacks themselves—these "bean bags"—hold a certain primitive allure. They are, in essence, pre-captured prey, waiting for a final, decisive pounce. The game is likely a waste of time for them, but a potentially brilliant delivery system for a new set of things for me to "lose" under the sofa.
Key Features
- We took classic Tic Tac Toe and added some action!
- Place the Toss Across unit on a floor, turn all targets blank side up, grab your three bean bags, and get ready to toss!
- Players try to get the rotating triangles to flip to show either X or O. Three in a row wins!
- Toss Across is lots of fun and even helps develop hand-eye coordination. Fun for children and the whole family.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The peace of my afternoon sunbeam was shattered by the clatter of cheap plastic. My human, bless her simple heart, was assembling a blue and red contraption on the living room rug. It looked like a cage for exceptionally tiny, square prisoners. Beside it lay a pile of six small, fabric pillows—three red, three blue. She and her mate began tossing them at the grid with a shocking lack of grace. A *thwack* followed by the *clack* of a spinning triangle. My tail gave a single, irritated flick. This was a new and unwelcome dimension of noise. Then, an errant toss sent a red bean bag skittering across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop just shy of the grand armchair I use for strategic observation. It lay there, a vibrant splash of color against the dark wood, utterly still. The humans, absorbed in their pointless game, didn't notice. I did. I descended from my perch, my movements fluid and silent. I approached the red square not as a toy, but as a curiosity, an anomaly in my perfectly curated environment. It smelled of canvas and something dusty, like the inside of a forgotten closet. I nudged it with my nose. It had a pleasing weight, a satisfying heft. With a deft flick of my paw, I sent it sliding. The humans shrieked with delight, thinking I was "playing." Fools. I was testing its physics, its coefficient of friction against the floorboards. I pounced, pinning it with both front paws, and delivered a series of rapid-fire bunny-kicks to its soft underbelly. It was a worthy adversary—unresisting, yet substantial. The true purpose of this "Toss Across" game was suddenly clear to me. The plastic grid was merely a decorative dispenser. The real prize was these palm-sized, eminently huntable trophies. When their game was done, they began to gather the pieces. I watched, a low growl of possession rumbling in my chest, as one of them reached for my red bean bag. I placed a single, white-gloved paw firmly upon it, my eyes narrowing. The message was clear. They could have their clattering plastic frame and the five other sacks. This one was mine. It was a tribute, a toll for the disruption. They relented, and I proudly carried my quarry to my bed, its slight weight a comforting presence. The game itself is an absurdity, but Mattel has, by sheer accident, created the perfect prey simulator. I shall allow it to remain.