Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a fit of what can only be described as misguided ambition, has procured a large bag full of poles, strings, and various objects for flinging. It’s a "Volleyball + Badminton Set" from a company called Franklin Sports, apparently designed to transform my perfectly manicured napping lawn into a theater of noisy, flailing human activity. While the very concept of "outdoor fun" that doesn't involve me being worshiped on a sun-drenched chaise lounge is offensive, I must concede a few points of interest. The large, bouncy sphere seems moderately diverting, and the various ropes are an open invitation for tactical chewing. However, the true potential lies in the "birdies." These feathery projectiles, however synthetic, are a clear, if clumsy, attempt to appease my predatory instincts. The rest of the contraption is a monumental waste of space, but these little offerings might just save the entire endeavor from being a complete write-off.
Key Features
- COMBO SET: Play beach volleyball or badminton in the backyard or in the park; Whether you’re at a family barbecue or having a get-together with friends, this starter volleyball and badminton combo set is everything you need for outdoor fun.
- EVERYTHING INCLUDED: This set includes (4) badminton rackets, (2) nylon birdies, (6) stakes and guy ropes, (1) volleyball, (1) ball pump and needle, and (1) convenient carry case to hold everything
- EASY SETUP: The easy-to-assemble net system includes a 1" diameter steel pole that adjusts from 5’1" to 8' feet high so it’s a great set for all ages to enjoy; The net assembles to 20' x 1.5' so it's big enough for many players to play
- PORTABLE: This set is designed for easy setup made to last season after season for grab-and-go fun
- OUTDOOR FUN: This complete badminton and volleyball set lets you enjoy these classic sports nearly anywhere; Enjoy hours of fun and create memories that last a lifetime
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The affair began with the arrival of a long, zipped bag, which my human dragged through the house with an unseemly amount of enthusiasm. I watched from my perch atop the credenza, tail twitching in mild irritation. It was clearly another contraption for The Staff to amuse themselves, one that would inevitably disrupt the delicate ecosystem of my afternoon nap schedule. They hauled it into the backyard, and soon the peaceful chirping of actual birds was replaced by the clanking of metal poles and the frustrated muttering of two-leggers attempting to follow pictograms. A great, flimsy wall of netting rose from the grass, a monument to poor taste that bisected my favorite sunning patch. I was prepared to register my official complaint via a pointed hairball on the new rug. Then, I saw it. My human fumbled with a smaller object. It was conical, white, and tipped with a crown of garish yellow feathers. A "birdie," they called it. An insult to avian kind, but an object of sudden, intense fascination for me. The two of them began swatting it back and forth over the net with brightly colored rackets, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. The birdie wobbled through the air, a pathetic imitation of flight, arcing and dipping in a way that was both ridiculous and utterly mesmerizing. It was slow. Predictable. An easy target. A challenge unworthy of my skills, yet one I felt compelled to accept. My moment came when a particularly poor swing sent the yellow-feathered tribute spiraling onto the patio, not five feet from my observation post. The humans squabbled over whose fault it was, their attention diverted. I flowed from the credenza, a silent grey shadow against the flagstones. I approached the fallen birdie with the practiced caution of a seasoned hunter. It lay still, a splash of alien color on the stone. I extended a paw, claws carefully sheathed, and gave it a tentative tap. It skittered away, tumbling end over end with a satisfying, dry rattle. The feathers, I noted with a sniff, were cheap plastic, but the shape and motion were enough. It was a proxy. A stand-in. A sacrifice. With a final, decisive move, I hooked a claw into the plastic cone, scooped the ridiculous thing up, and trotted briskly toward the cat flap. Let them have their towering net and their bouncy ball. Let them sweat and shout under the afternoon sun. They had, in their bumbling fashion, provided me with a trophy. This "birdie" was now mine, destined for a ceremonial execution beneath the living room sofa. Franklin Sports had unwittingly armed me, and as I disappeared into the cool, quiet of the house, I left the humans to their pointless game, utterly vanquished. The product, as a whole, is a disaster, but its smallest component is, I must admit, a roaring success.
