Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and baffling wisdom, has procured a set of what appears to be personal armor. The JBM brand name means nothing to me, but the contents of the box are clear: a hard shell for their oversized head and various other curved plates to strap onto their clumsy limbs. They call it "protective gear" for something called "skateboarding," which seems to be a ritual of deliberately falling over. From my perspective, it’s a testament to poor feline instincts; I was born with superior agility and a coat of soft, protective fur, all for free. The helmet has some intriguing vents that might be good for poking a stray claw into, but ultimately, the entire contraption seems like a monumental waste of effort. The box it came in, however, is a first-rate napping receptacle.
Key Features
- Suitable for Age 14+ years old
- The package includes knee pad x 2; elbow pad x 2; wrist guard x 2; helmet x 1
- The skateboard helmet is designed with multiple vent, adjustable dail and adjustable strap for proper fit
- Knee elbow pads and wrist guards are made of durable, soft EVA padded material with tough plastic plates
- Appropriate for inline skating; roller skating; skateboarding; scootering; skating and other outdoor sports
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The offering was laid out on the living room rug, a silent and perplexing tableau. My human had unboxed the artifacts from their cardboard shrine and arranged them with a strange, solemn purpose. At the north point sat the helmet, a glossy black dome pocked with geometric holes, like a strange, hollowed-out skull. To the east and west, the elbow and knee pads were splayed like the carapaces of giant, unfortunate beetles. At the south end lay the wrist guards, waiting. I watched from my perch on the armchair, tail twitching, interpreting the scene for what it clearly was: the components of a very strange golem, waiting for a soul. I descended for a closer inspection, my paws silent on the plush carpet. The air around the plastic pieces was still and sterile. I circled the helmet first, sniffing at the vents. They offered no interesting scent, only the faint, chemical smell of newness. This was no skull, then. It was a vessel, waiting to be filled with my human’s questionable ideas. I nudged one of the knee pads with my nose. The tough outer plate gave way to a softer, padded underside. A classic ruse. It promises comfort but is merely an accomplice to the foolish act of "scootering," whatever that may be. The long velcro straps were the most interesting part, like limp, synthetic tentacles. They had potential. My human soon returned, ready to complete the ritual. They knelt and began the slow process of assembling the golem upon their own body. Each piece was strapped on with a loud *shhhhhrk* of velcro, a sound that grated on my delicate ears. The helmet was last, placed upon the head and secured with a decisive *click*. The transformation was complete. My human, now encased in this JBM armor, looked even more awkward than usual, a bipedal turtle preparing for a battle against gravity it was destined to lose. They wobbled out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sat there for a long moment, contemplating the sheer absurdity of it all. Why construct this clumsy exoskeleton when one could simply choose not to engage in activities that threaten one's dignity? It was a puzzle with no satisfying answer. This collection of plastic and foam was not a toy, nor was it a worthy adversary. It was a monument to human fragility. My final verdict was one of utter indifference. I turned my back on the lingering scent of plastic and, with a flick of my tail, leaped gracefully into the magnificent, empty cardboard box. Now *this* was a product of impeccable design.
