Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have mistaken me for one of the smaller, louder, and significantly less elegant humans. This is a "LeapTop," a garish green plastic clamshell meant to imitate the far superior, warm rectangle the Tall One stares at all day. It purports to teach basic human symbols and numbers through a series of tinny, repetitive sounds and flashing lights. While the novelty of pressing a button to produce an annoying noise has a certain fleeting appeal, the true potential might lie in the hinge mechanism that flips the screen back. Swatting that could be mildly entertaining for a moment, but overall, it appears to be an egregious waste of a perfectly good sunbeam and my invaluable napping schedule.
Key Features
- 2-in-1 laptop features a screen that flips to convert from keyboard to tablet mode.Ideal for ages:2 years and up
- Laptop features a keyboard with letters A-Z and numbers 1-10, or swivel and transform it into a touch tablet
- Kids can pretend to be like mom and dad with role-play activities like emailing Scout
- Features five learning modes - ABCs, numbers, games, music and messages
- Parents can customize the laptop to help their child spell their name
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box it arrived in was, I must admit, of a respectable quality. Sturdy, with excellent corners for chin-scratching. The contents, however, were an insult. My human presented this lime-green contraption with an absurd level of enthusiasm, pressing a button that caused it to shriek, "Welcome to our learning house!" I flattened my ears, gave her a look that conveyed my profound disappointment, and immediately began grooming a perfectly clean patch of fur on my shoulder. She placed it on the floor, and I made a point of walking around it in a wide, contemptuous circle before leaping onto the sofa. It was an object to be ignored. My vigil of disdain lasted until the following afternoon. The human had apparently "customized" the device, and I heard its tinny speaker repeatedly squawking "P-E-T-E" in a synthesized voice that bore no resemblance to my dignified name. The small human—the one they call a "toddler"—found this endlessly amusing. He would hammer the keyboard, then, with a clumsy motion, flip the screen all the way back, transforming the device from a "laptop" to a "tablet." The hinge made a dull *thwack* noise each time. After a few minutes of this, the small human lost interest and moved on to a more intellectually stimulating activity: trying to fit a wooden block into a circular hole. The LeapTop lay abandoned, screen folded back upon itself. From my perch, I observed the abandoned artifact. The way the screen was folded back created an intriguing angle. It wasn't flat, but it wasn't vertical. It was a slope. A gentle, unassuming ramp leading to nowhere. Cautiously, I hopped down from the sofa and approached. I nudged it with my nose. It was slick, cool plastic. I extended a single, perfect paw and rested it on the keyboard. The keys gave a little, and the machine chirped about the letter 'G'. I ignored it. My focus was on the geometry. And then, I understood its true purpose. It was not a toy. It was not a communication device. It was a high-tech, ergonomically designed chaise lounge. I settled onto the floor, tucking my paws beneath me, and rested my chin perfectly upon the angled screen. The elevation was sublime. It propped my head up just enough to allow for maximum environmental scanning with minimal neck strain. From this position, I could watch the kitchen entrance, the hallway, and the dust bunnies under the credenza, all while maintaining an air of detached repose. The toy was a failure, but as a piece of bespoke feline furniture, it was an accidental masterpiece.
