Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe my opinion is required for every piece of plastic that enters this house. This latest acquisition appears to be some sort of noisy wrist-shackle for the small human. It is offensively blue and features the likeness of a cartoon dog, an animal of questionable intelligence and hygiene. The manufacturer, VTech, specializes in things that beep and flash, designed to distract children from their primary duties of refilling my food bowl and providing a warm lap. While the device's games and sounds will undoubtedly interrupt my napping schedule, it might also mesmerize the small human into a state of stationary bewilderment, freeing up valuable sunbeams for my own use. Ultimately, it lacks feathers, strings, and the delightful aroma of catnip, making it a fundamentally flawed object from my perspective.
Key Features
- This kids’ watch features Bluey on the cover and characters from the hit show Bluey
- Watch includes eight digital clock faces, stopwatch, timer and alarm
- Four playful games inspired by the show encourage imagination with activities featuring Bluey, Bingo and more
- Hear the voices of Bluey and Bingo say popular phrases from the show Bluey while playing each activity
- Intended for ages 3-6 years; requires 1 CR2450 lithium coin battery; battery included for demo purposes only; new battery recommended for regular use
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The artifact arrived in a box of other, less interesting, household items. The small human, my designated jailer and occasional ear-scratcher, tore it free with a shriek of delight. It was a clunky, blue plastic bracelet, which she immediately strapped to her wrist. At first, it was silent, and I dismissed it as another piece of useless adornment, like the colorful clips she is so fond of. I was observing it from my strategic perch atop the sofa cushions when it happened. A disembodied voice, cheerful and canine, erupted from the thing. "Wackadoo!" it yelped. I flattened my ears, my tail giving a single, irritated flick. An invasion. A talking dog had infiltrated my kingdom. My mission was clear. I spent the afternoon conducting surveillance. The small human would poke the device's face, and it would respond with a cacophony of sounds and flashing lights. It spoke of "Bingo" and "Keepy Uppy," nonsense phrases I logged for future analysis. It was a communication device, I concluded, a direct link to some outside canine intelligence. What were their plans? To replace my premium salmon pâté with dry, tasteless kibble? To outlaw naps in favor of "walkies"? The possibilities were horrifying. My vigilance intensified. The turning point came late in the afternoon. The small human had been ignoring me, completely captivated by a game that involved, from what I could gather, "fixing a Chattermax." This activity produced an alarming series of clicks, whirs, and triumphant fanfares. She was completely absorbed, her arm moving in predictable patterns as she jabbed at the screen. I crept closer, positioning myself behind the armchair. Her arm, with the blue shackle attached, swung back and forth. It was rhythmic. It was hypnotic. It was… a toy. Not the device itself, but the human appendage it controlled. I crouched, my body low to the ground. As her arm swung past the edge of the chair, I pounced. A perfect, silent attack. My paws, claws carefully sheathed, made contact with her soft sleeve, just inches from the noisy blue parasite. She yelped in surprise, pulling her arm back. I retreated into the shadows, a low growl of satisfaction in my chest. The artifact was a tool of inferior beings, yes. But its power to turn my witless human into an interactive dangle toy? That, I had to admit, showed a glimmer of genius. The device was not for me, but it could, with careful manipulation, be used for my entertainment. I would allow it to stay. For now.
