Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a small, motorized blue automaton, apparently named "Thomas." It is a self-propelled plastic block with a disturbingly placid face painted on the front, designed for the amusement of "preschool kids," an insult I will choose to ignore for now. Its primary function is to move in a straight line with a monotonous buzzing sound, a feature that might, for a fleeting moment, appeal to the part of my brain hardwired for hunting slow, stupid insects. However, the requirement of a human to flip its switch and its incompatibility with the more satisfyingly solid wood objects in the house suggest it is likely just another piece of noisy clutter, destined to be less of a worthy adversary and more of an obstacle between me and a quality nap.
Key Features
- Kids can create exciting Thomas & Friends adventures with this battery-powered toy train styled like Thomas, the No. 1 blue engine
- Flip the switch on top of the engine to send Thomas and his cargo racing along
- This motorized toy train is compatible with all Thomas & Friends track, except wood (Track sets sold separately.)
- Engine comes with plastic connectors to attach other push-along or motorized engines, vehicles, cargo cars or tenders (Additional toys sold separately and subject to availability.)
- Helps foster fine motor skills and encourages storytelling play for preschool kids ages 3 years and older
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony began, as it always does, with the human making cooing noises and kneeling on the floor, an act of supplication I generally appreciate. But their attention was not on my magnificent gray coat or the elegant white bib upon my chest. It was on the blue thing. With a click, the offering was brought to life. It began to hum, a low, persistent thrumming that vibrated through the floorboards, and set off on a determined, unwavering path across the hardwood. It was, I had to admit, a curious spectacle. I did not pounce. That would be uncivilized. Instead, I observed from my perch atop the sofa's armrest, tail giving a slow, contemplative twitch. This "Thomas" was not prey. It was a cartographer. It moved with a purpose that belied its simple plastic shell, mapping the vast, open plains of the living room. It navigated the treacherous leg of the coffee table, skirted the foothills of the rug, and journeyed bravely past the dark cavern beneath the armchair. It was on a mission, an expedition into the known world, and I was its silent, gray-furred deity, watching from the heavens. Its first journey concluded when it bumped softly into the wall with a dull thud. The buzzing continued, its wheels spinning uselessly. It had reached the edge of the world. A profound sense of pity washed over me. Such a brave explorer, so full of manufactured purpose, only to be foiled by a limitation of its own design. I hopped down, my paws silent on the floor. I nudged the little engine with my nose, turning it 90 degrees. I then retreated to my perch. A moment later, the human, finally noticing, flipped its switch off and then on again. My cartographer was off once more, charting a new territory I had granted it. It was not a toy to be destroyed, I decided. It was a subject, a loyal and witless vassal exploring my kingdom on my behalf. And for that, it had earned the right to exist. For now.
