Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired what can only be described as a vast, plastic basin of sacrilege from a company called 'Little Tikes,' a name that already sets a low bar. It is, apparently, a 'water table,' designed for the clumsy, loud human kittens to perform some sort of ritual involving a flimsy pole and offensively cheerful 'floating critters.' The entire affair is predicated on the abhorrent presence of water, a substance I assiduously avoid. While the concept of launching small creatures into the air via a 'flipper' has a certain primitive appeal, and the critters themselves might be worth batting around *if dry*, the whole setup is a monument to moist, noisy chaos. It is, in short, a glorified, interactive puddle and an utter waste of prime patio space that could be used for sunbathing.
Key Features
- Fun, durable water table with fishing game and counting play
- Catch, collect and count your fish before releasing them with a splash
- Fill the fishbowl until it tips over and splashes down in a wave
- Use the launcher to fling the critters onto the spinning lily pad in the center of the table
- Includes fishing pole, 5 floating critters, water cup and fishing net
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It began as a prophecy, whispered on the stale air of the delivery truck. A great cardboard monolith arrived, and my human tore it open with a fervor I usually reserve for the sound of a can opener. From the husk emerged a monstrosity of primary colors, an altar of plastic. I watched from the safety of the sliding glass door as it was assembled on the patio, my tail twitching in deep suspicion. The pieces clicked together to form a shallow basin on four sturdy legs, a profane baptismal font for a religion I wanted no part of. The human then populated it with a pantheon of hollow gods: a vacant-eyed frog, a manic crab, and other creatures of the deep, all bearing the same soulless, painted-on smile. Then came the Great Deluge. The human turned the hose upon the altar, and the hiss of the water was a declaration of war. My fur prickled. The basin filled, and the plastic idols floated, bobbing listlessly. The human demonstrated the contraption's features to an empty yard, laughing as a fishbowl contraption at the top filled and then tipped over, creating a miniature, pathetic waterfall. They used a flimsy rod to 'catch' the frog, a mockery of the noble hunt. But it was the launcher that caught my eye. A small, blue lever that, when struck, catapulted a creature onto a spinning green lily pad. An instrument of chaos in a sea of banality. Later, when the sun was low and the humans were gone, I ventured out. The air was thick with the smell of chlorine and wet plastic. I gave the water's edge a wide berth, my paws making no sound on the patio stones. My target was the launcher. One of the small human kittens had failed to launch the red crab properly, and it lay on the dry ground beside one of the table legs. I nudged it with my nose. It was light, cheap, and utterly unfulfilling. I looked up at its brethren, floating in their untouchable paradise. They were prisoners, and I, their warden. I will not deign to touch the water. The fishing pole is an insult to my predatory instincts, and the net is a tool for the witless. The table, as a whole, is a failure. It is a monument to everything I am not: loud, wet, and simple. However, the launcher… the launcher has merit. I have observed its mechanics. I have calculated the trajectory. Tonight, after the humans have gone to their sleeping perches, I will return. I will not use their pathetic plastic crab. I will bring my finest silver crinkle ball, place it upon the catapult, and with one swift, precise strike of my paw, I will send it soaring over the couch and into the darkened hallway. The water table is not a toy; it is a siege engine, and I shall be its master.
