Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has presented me with this... collection. It's a box of colorful plastic lumps from Fisher-Price, a brand I associate with the loud, drooling, miniature humans they sometimes allow into my domain. These are apparently "vehicles" – a fire truck, a tractor, a thing for garbage – each with a small, smiling humanoid figure that fits inside. They are chunky, devoid of feathers, and contain no discernible catnip pouch. Their only potential redeeming quality is that they have wheels, which means they can be pushed off a high surface, like the mantelpiece, to produce a satisfyingly loud clatter. For the most part, however, they seem designed to be gripped by clumsy, sticky hands and are therefore a complete waste of my superior intellect and refined predatory skills.
Key Features
- Gift set featuring 5 toy push-along vehicles and 5 character figures for toddler-friendly pretend play
- Familiar themes to inspire storytelling, including rescue vehicles like a fire truck and tow truck, a farm tractor, bulldozer construction vehicle, and recycle garbage truck
- Figures and vehicles sized just right for small hands to grasp and move
- Bring these vehicles to any Little People playset for more toddler-friendly storytelling fun (Playsets sold separately and subject to availability.)
- Helps strengthen fine motor skills and encourage imaginative play for toddlers and preschool kids ages 1 to 5 years old
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The peace of my afternoon sunbeam was shattered by the arrival of the small human they call a "nephew." This creature, a walking symphony of babbling and gravitational uncertainty, was given a bright yellow tow truck to appease it. I watched from my perch on the armchair, unimpressed, until the unthinkable happened. The small human, with the casual cruelty only a toddler can possess, took the truck’s blunt plastic hook and snagged it on the tail of Sir Reginald Fluffen-tail, my most cherished mouse, a veteran of countless glorious battles. Sir Reginald was then dragged, ignominiously, across the vast beige desert of the living room carpet. An immediate rescue mission was required. I leapt from the chair, my gray tuxedo a blur of righteous fury. The yellow tow truck was my target. Its wheels rumbled inelegantly on the floorboards, steered by the grubby hand of the tiny tyrant. Inside the cab, the plastic driver figure stared forward with a vacant, painted-on smile, a willing accomplice to this heinous crime. I stalked the contraption, my initial plan to simply bat Sir Reginald free proving futile against the simple, effective lock of the hook. This called for a more direct approach. As the truck lumbered past the leg of the coffee table, I saw my chance. I launched myself, not at the truck itself, but at the hand propelling it. A gentle but firm head-bonk, a classic distraction maneuver, caused the small human to yelp in surprise and release his grip. The tow truck, now driverless, careened silently and collided with the table leg. The jolt was enough. The hook slipped, and Sir Reginald was free. I snatched my companion in my jaws and vanished under the sofa before the small human could even begin his customary wail. The truck lay on its side, a monument to poor craftsmanship and villainy. It is not a toy. It is a crude kidnapping device, unworthy of my attention except as the antagonist in a tale of daring rescue.
