Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a rather elaborate plastic contraption they call the "MLB Slammin' Sluggers Baseball Game." From what I can gather through weary observation, it is a miniature arena designed for two of them to clumsily simulate a sport by flicking levers and turning knobs. The entire affair is a monument to wasted human effort, complete with a pointless scoreboard and adhesive decorations. However, my discerning eye has noted one component of potential interest: a tiny, metallic sphere. This sphere is manipulated by magnets, causing it to move in unpredictable, and therefore intriguing, ways. While the game itself is an utter waste of my valuable napping time, the device's function as an erratic launcher for a small, chase-able object gives it a sliver of potential relevance to my world.
Key Features
- Pitch, field, bat, and run the bases just like a real baseball game!
- 2 person game, take turns being the pitcher & fielder and the batting team as you play through the full 9 innings.
- Control the pitcher to throw fastballs and wild curve balls using the innovative magnet technology and control system!
- Track Balls, Strikes and Outs as you pitch!
- Track the inning and score on the giant scoreboard and Personalize the field with your favorite team! All 30 MLB team stickers included.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with the usual fanfare of tearing cardboard and crinkling plastic, scents that signal an imminent disruption to my perfectly calibrated afternoon slumber. The Provider and her chosen companion lugged the monstrosity into the living room, its garish colors an assault on the sophisticated gray-and-white palette of my own magnificent coat. They called it a "game." I call it a noisy, plastic plateau of disappointment. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail twitching in mild irritation, as they applied stickers and fiddled with levers, their oafish paws fumbling with the delicate-looking machinery. Their ritual began. Shouts of "Strike!" and "Fastball!" filled the air, a meaningless lexicon I've learned to associate with the flickering box in the corner. My interest was piqued only when I saw it: a small, silver ball, no bigger than a particularly plump beetle. It shot out from a hidden slot, propelled by some unseen force. One of the humans swung a plastic bat-thing, and a hollow *thwack* echoed in the room. The little ball went airborne. This was a new development. It wasn't the lazy arc of a thrown crinkle toy; this was a projectile with purpose. Then, the moment of truth. During a particularly wild "pitch," the silver sphere missed the bat entirely, flew clear over the plastic stadium wall, and landed with a crisp *tink* on the hardwood floor. It skittered, its path a beautiful, chaotic dance. The humans groaned in frustration; I, however, saw an opportunity. In a flash of gray-and-white fur, I was off the sofa. My paws, silent assassins, descended upon the rogue sphere. It was glorious. It was heavier than a typical toy, its metallic surface cool against my pads. I batted it once, and it rolled with a speed and satisfying weight that cheap plastic balls could only dream of. I deftly guided it under the credenza, a dragon claiming a piece of treasure. The humans could have their plastic field and their pointless rules. I had secured the only part of the experience that held any real value. The game, it turned out, was not the one they thought they were playing.
