Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a fit of what I can only assume was profound boredom, has acquired a large, garish plastic monument and erected it on my lawn. They call it a "Panda Climber," a laughable misnomer as it bears no resemblance to the noble bamboo-eater. It is ostensibly for the miniature, noisy humans who sometimes visit. However, I see its true potential. The "large platform" is clearly a superior sunning deck and observation post, elevated above the damp grass. The "crawl space" offers a tactical advantage for ambushing crickets or hiding from the indignity of a sudden rain shower. The slide is a garish, undignified chute I wouldn't be caught dead on, but the rest of the structure, this "EverTough" plastic throne, has possibilities—provided it is not occupied by its intended, squealing audience.
Key Features
- The Step2 Panda Climber is a versatile all-in-one outdoor activity gym with tons of features little ones will enjoy.
- Toddlers will love to get active as they climb, slide, and hold secret club meetings in the crawl space!
- Large platform is perfect for little ones to look out at their backyard play space and encourages fun imaginative play with friends.
- Made EverTough, this outdoor climber is uniquely indestructible and ready to outlast hours of playtime fun!
- In the box: Climber base with platform, arch, and slide.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It materialized overnight. One moment, my pristine lawn was a tapestry of green under the dawn mist; the next, this… anomaly had landed. Its primary-colored hull—a jarring blend of tan, red, and blue—glared against the natural order of things. From my post on the windowsill, I analyzed the foreign object. It was no simple box or discarded piece of human refuse. It had structure. Purpose. It was, I concluded, a scout ship from a tasteless alien civilization. My duty was clear: I had to investigate and assess the threat. I slipped out through the cat flap, my gray tuxedo a smudge of stealth against the morning shadows. The air around the vessel smelled strange, a sterile scent of sun-warmed plastic that tickled my nose. I circled its base, my tail held low and twitching. A dark, arched portal beckoned from its underbelly. The ship’s cargo bay, perhaps? I darted inside. It was a hollow, echoing chamber, a perfect listening post to monitor the seismic tremors of the approaching mail carrier. Phase one of my infiltration was a success. Emboldened, I scaled the grooved, arching ramp on its flank, my claws finding purchase on the textured surface. This was the boarding ramp to the command bridge. I emerged onto the flat, open platform at the summit and the world expanded. From this new altitude, I was master of all I surveyed: the treacherous territory of the neighbor's flowerbed, the flight patterns of the local sparrows, the slow, meandering trail of a particularly plump beetle. I was no longer a simple house cat; I was the captain of this stationary starship, the S.S. *Indestructible*. I sat, loaf-like and triumphant, on my new bridge, the morning sun warming my fur. The bright yellow chute leading back to the ground—some sort of emergency escape slide, no doubt—was an absurdly steep and undignified mode of egress I would never use. But that was a minor design flaw. The vessel itself was a magnificent conquest. It was a fortress, an observatory, a throne. The humans thought they had bought a toy for their young. Fools. They had unknowingly provided me with the perfect command center for my reign over the backyard.
