Pete's Expert Summary
My human has, with their typical lack of subtlety, introduced a large, shockingly magenta plastic beast into my domain. Based on its diminutive stature and the "Little Tikes" brand—a name I associate with indestructible, primary-colored apparatus for clumsy miniature humans—this is a "rocking horse." Its purpose is to entertain a creature with far less refined motor skills than my own. For me, its appeal is debatable. The small size is a mercy, as it won't dominate my favorite sunbeam. However, the high-backed seat, ostensibly for "safety," presents a tantalizing possibility: a perfectly contoured, elevated napping throne. The rocking motion could be either a delightful, gentle sway or a stomach-churning lurch. It warrants a cursory investigation before I declare it a complete waste of my time.
Key Features
- One of Little Tikes' classic items is back.
- Small size
- Perfect for small indoor or outdoor play areas
- Seat is designed to keep kids from falling forward or back
- Easy grip handles; Made in USA
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The humans were whispering of legends. I’d heard the words "classic" and "it's back" and, with my superior intellect, naturally assumed they were discussing the return of a discontinued, top-shelf brand of salmon pâté I had once favored. I groomed my tuxedo bib in anticipation. Then the box arrived. It was far too large for pâté and smelled not of the sea, but of a factory. From this cardboard prison, my human extracted the prophesied "classic": a steed of molded magenta plastic, an assault on the eyes so profound it made cheap laser pointers look like fine art. This was the great returning legend? This hollow, garish creature? It stood frozen, its oversized "easy grip" ears a mockery of my own elegant, twitching instruments of hearing. I circled it warily, my tail a gray plume of disapproval. I gave it a test tap with my paw. It didn't budge. Solid. An insult to my aesthetic, but a well-constructed one, I'll grant it that. The humans call this brand "Little Tikes," but I know it for what it is: built to withstand the apocalypse, or at least a toddler. Later, the human committed the ultimate indignity: they picked me up and placed me upon the creature’s back. I prepared to launch myself off in a fury, but something stopped me. The saddle, this so-called "safety seat," was... perfect. Its high back and deep curvature cradled my distinguished frame as if it were molded from a cast of my own body. It was a throne of shocking comfort. Still, I was a king without a kingdom, a stationary ruler on a plastic pony. I hopped off, feigning indifference. A comfortable chair was still just a chair. But the seed of an idea was planted. That evening, long after the house had fallen silent, I returned to the magenta monolith. I leaped gracefully into the saddle, my throne. With a deliberate shift of my weight, I pushed off. It tilted back, then forward, in a smooth, gentle arc. It wasn't a violent rock, but a slow, rhythmic sway, like being rocked in the arms of a particularly boring but devoted giant. Back and forth. Back and forth. This wasn't a steed for riding into battle. It was a vessel for navigating the vast, deep oceans of slumber. The humans, in their infinite foolishness, had accidentally acquired the ultimate napping cradle. The legend was real after all.
