Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a display of breathtaking ignorance regarding my species, has acquired a device from a brand named O'Brien, apparently famous for things that go on water. It is a large, U-shaped slab of what they call "5-ply Poly foam" in a particularly insipid shade of pink. They call it a "Water Saddle," with the clear and horrifying implication that one is meant to straddle it in a large, wet place like a pool or lake. As I am a distinguished gentleman with a pristine tuxedo coat, the entire concept is anathema to me. Its only potential saving grace is that, being made of foam and not requiring inflation, it might serve as a modernist, if garishly colored, lounging throne here on the dry, sensible land. Otherwise, it's a complete waste of resources.
Key Features
- 5-ply Poly foam material
- Does not need inflating or deflating
- Dries quickly for storage
- Great way to cool off in the pool, lake, or ocean
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived not in a box, but bound in plastic like a captured beast. My human unwrapped it with a triumphant grunt, placing the bright pink monstrosity in the middle of the living room floor. It smelled of synthetics and shattered dreams. "For the pool, Pete!" the human chirped, as if this were a gift and not a threat. I flicked my tail in profound disappointment and retired to a sunbeam to contemplate the sheer foolishness of it all. For two days it sat there, an unwelcome guest, an altar to aquatic absurdity. On the third night, a storm rolled in. Rain lashed against the windows and thunder rattled the very bones of the house. The power flickered and died, plunging the world into a deep, velvety darkness punctuated by flashes of brilliant lightning. In one of those flashes, the pink saddle was illuminated, and it was no longer just a piece of foam. In the strange, electric air, it looked like a ship—a strange, crescent-shaped vessel waiting for a captain. My usual nap spots felt mundane, inadequate for such a dramatic evening. I approached the saddle cautiously. Leaping aboard, I found the poly-foam deck cool and surprisingly firm beneath my paws. As another clap of thunder shook the house, I imagined I was not in the living room, but the captain of the *Pink Peril*, navigating the treacherous straits between the Sofa Archipelago and the Coffee Table Reef. The flashing lightning was cannon fire from a rival pirate ship. The howling wind was the cry of a great sea monster I was bravely sailing toward. I was Commodore Pete, my gray and white coat a symbol of naval authority, my paws steady on the helm as my vessel pitched and rolled with the phantom waves of the storm. I sailed through the night, a silent, courageous mariner on a vast, dark sea. When the sun finally rose and the power returned, the human found me curled in the curve of the saddle, asleep. It is an abject failure as a water toy, but as a dream-ship for a seasoned captain on a stormy night? It will suffice.
