Pete's Expert Summary
My human presented this... object, this "Learning Clock," with the sort of misplaced enthusiasm usually reserved for a fresh can of tuna. It is, from what I can gather, a flat, colorful disc designed to teach small, clumsy humans about their bizarre obsession with segmenting the day into meaningless units. The brand, "Learning Resources," suggests its purpose is entirely utilitarian, which is an immediate red flag. While the interconnected movement of the color-coded hands, a result of some "hidden gears," offers a flicker of mechanical intrigue, the overall concept is a profound waste of perfectly good plastic. Its only redeemable feature appears to be a flimsy stand, which I suspect provides far more entertainment value when subjected to the laws of gravity than any "time-telling" lesson ever could.
Key Features
- TEACH early time skills with this hands-on learning clock!
- HIDDEN gears maintain the correct time as you spin the hands!
- COLOR-CODED hands match the clock's hour and minute markings!
- INCLUDES removable plastic stand
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in one of those crisp, brown boxes that usually promise superior napping surfaces. My human, however, bypassed the box and revealed the contents: a cheerful, offensively bright circle. She placed it before me on the rug, a hopeful glint in her eyes. “Look, Pete,” she cooed, “It’s a clock. See? The little hand is for the hour.” She spun the red pointer, and I watched, my tail giving a single, irritated flick. The blue minute hand moved in perfect, synchronized obedience. An interesting mechanism, I’ll grant it that, but its face was a meaningless jumble of human symbols. My time is not measured in such rigid, arbitrary slices. My time is measured by the slant of a sunbeam on the floor, the rumble of an approaching stomach, and the sacred, yawning chasm between naps. She seemed to think I needed to be "taught." She’d point a finger at a number, then at the corresponding hand, making a strange “tick-tock” sound with her mouth. The clock itself was silent, a glaring design flaw. A proper device for contemplation should have a gentle, rhythmic pulse, something to bat at. This was just a mute, plastic face staring blankly back at me. After a few minutes of this fruitless lesson, she attached the clock to its little plastic stand and placed it on the edge of the coffee table, a monument to her failed educational ambitions. Now *that* was an invitation. I leaped silently onto the sofa, then to the table, my movements fluid and deliberate. The clock sat there, perched precariously, its cheerful face a mockery of my sophisticated worldview. I extended a single, gray paw, claws sheathed. I wasn't trying to destroy it, merely… test its commitment to its current elevation. A gentle tap. It wobbled. A slightly more insistent push, aimed squarely at the top. The stand gave way with a pathetic snap. The clock face cartwheeled through the air for a brief, glorious moment before landing on the hardwood floor with a flat, unsatisfying *clack*. My human sighed, a sound of gentle defeat I have come to cherish. I looked from the fallen circle to her, then gave my tail a slow, deliberate wag of finality. My work here was done. Its purpose had been discovered and its potential fully realized. It was not a tool for learning, but a simple projectile. A C-minus experience, at best. I hopped off the table and headed for the sunbeam in the living room. It was nearly 3 p.m. by my own, superior calculations. Nap time.
