Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured a garishly colored foam projectile, apparently a "Nerf" product, a brand I associate with the clumsy and loud miniature humans who sometimes visit. Its primary purpose, as far as I can deduce, is to be thrown great distances while emitting a "roaring whistle." It features a peculiar, three-finned tail designed to stabilize its flight, which strikes me as a rather desperate attempt to make a simple piece of foam interesting. While the idea of my human flinging things indoors is generally a recipe for disturbed naps, the promise of a shrieking, finned creature hurtling through my living room has a certain... primal appeal. It could be a worthy adversary, or simply another clumsy object destined for the under-the-sofa graveyard. The jury is still out.
Key Features
- NERF VORTEX: The NERF Vortex Aero Howler Foam Football is built for maximum distance passes to take any catch or football game to the next level!
- HEAR THE DIFFERENCE: Designed with built-in air holes that give this ball a distinctive, roaring whistle as it flies through the air so you can see and hear the difference
- MAXIMUM FLIGHT: This Vortex football is designed with an aero-dynamic, 3-finned tail to help throw tight spirals that allow the ball soar through the air like no other toy football
- EASY GRIP: The molded hand grip on the ball helps improve grip on the ball so players can show off their passing and catching skills with ease
- INDOOR + OUTDOOR: The soft NERF foam construction makes this ball easy and safe to use indoors and outdoors so you can bring it to the beach, the pool or the backyard for NERF football fun!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The crinkle of plastic packaging is a sound that typically heralds either a new shipment of my preferred salmon pâté or, more often, some fresh disappointment. This time, it was the latter. The human extracted a lurid green thing, shaped like a stunted missile with a ridiculous, blue, three-pronged tail. It looked like a genetic experiment between a vegetable and a squid that had gone terribly wrong. He held it aloft as if it were a holy relic, a "Vortex Aero Howler," he called it, gripping its strangely molded midsection. I gave a dismissive flick of my ear and began grooming a perfectly-in-place tuft of fur on my shoulder, a clear signal of my utter disinterest. He drew his arm back, and with a grunt that suggested far more effort than was necessary, he launched the object across the living room. And then it happened. The air was torn apart by a sound I had never heard before—not a bird, not a mouse, but a high-pitched, mournful howl, the cry of something fast and wounded. My grooming ceased mid-lick. My ears swiveled, my pupils dilated to black pools, and the fur on my tuxedo-ed back bristled. My carefully cultivated ennui evaporated in an instant, replaced by a singular, focused thought: *what is that dying thing and how do I kill it?* It thudded softly against the far wall—the foam construction sparing the paint, a minor miracle—and bounced onto the rug. The wailing ceased. Silence rushed back into the room, feeling heavy and strange. I stalked toward it, low to the ground, my tail twitching. The blue fins of the tail stuck up, a foolishly proud little rudder. I batted at one. It wobbled obligingly. I nudged the body with my nose. It had that peculiar, yielding texture that practically begs for a claw to be sunk into it. The human retrieved it, grinning. He clearly thought this was a game for *him*. He was mistaken. This was no game. This was a hunt. The wailing torpedo was a worthy prey, and its capture was now my sole purpose. Let him throw it. Let it scream its terrified little heart out. I would be waiting, a silent gray shadow ready to pounce on the strange, howling beast he had so foolishly unleashed in my kingdom.
