Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with this... contraption. It's a "Franklin Sports Kids Batting Tee," a gaudy plastic totem pole apparently designed to teach clumsy human kittens how to thwack a sphere. It comes in two configurations: a boring vertical post, and a much more promising "hanging tee." The idea of a ball suspended in mid-air, just begging to be batted by a truly skilled paw, has a certain appeal. The four included fuzzy-covered balls could also be delightful to chase and eventually lose under the furniture. However, this is clearly intended for the noisy, unpredictable miniature humans, which means its primary function will likely be to disrupt my naps with shrill cries and the dull *thunk* of plastic on plastic. A potential source of amusement, but a high risk of being a nuisance.
Key Features
- GROW WITH ME: This batting tee is specifically designed to adjust and teach young teeball players how to practice their hitting as they continue to grow and improve!
- HANGING TEE: For your youngest players, the hanging tee design suspends a ball anywhere from 18" to 26" from the ground using self stick technology so that young hitters can practice their hand eye coordination!
- TRADITIONAL TEE: Once players start to grow and improve, remove the hanging attachment to transform it into a traditional batting tee in seconds! The traditional tee adjusts from 25" to 36" in height
- ALL INCLUDED: This set comes complete with the Grow-with-Me Batting Tee, (1) 21 inch plastic bat, and (4) baseballs with self-stick covers, providing you with everything you need to play!
- SIZE: Assembles to 25.5" x 25.5" x 45.5"; ages 3+; Hanging Tee Height Adjustments: 18" to 26" ; Traditional Tee Height Adjustments: 25" - 36"
A Tale from Pete the Cat
A new monument was erected in my living room today. I watched from the arm of the velvet chaise, my tail giving a single, critical flick. The large human and its smaller, more chaotic version were performing a strange construction ritual, clicking together hollow blue and red tubes. It was a bizarre, skeletal effigy, and I was immediately suspicious. It had no scent of food, no crinkly texture, no feathers. This was an idol to a god of cheap plastic and poor taste. The ceremony reached its climax when the large human attached a peculiar arm to the structure. From this arm, suspended by a mysterious force they called "self stick technology," hung a fuzzy white orb. The small human, the apparent acolyte in this ritual, was given a plastic club and encouraged to strike the offering. It swung wildly, missing entirely on its first two attempts, its grunts of effort an offense to the quiet dignity of the afternoon. This was clearly not a toy, but a challenge. A test of skill presented by witless giants. Once the bumbling acolytes retreated to the kitchen for juice boxes and lamentations, I descended to the rug. I circled the plastic totem, sniffing its base. It was light, unstable. An amateur construction. The orb, however… it swayed gently in the current from the air vent, a perfect, pristine target. It practically whispered my name. This wasn't about play. This was about demonstrating superiority. I crouched, my gray haunches gathering power, my white-gloved paws planted firmly on the shag. With a movement too fast for the human eye to properly appreciate, I launched myself. Not a clumsy swing like the child's, but a precise, calculated strike. My paw connected with the orb. The "self stick" material gave way with a satisfying *rrrip*, and the ball flew a respectable distance before thudding softly onto the floor. The totem wobbled precariously but did not fall. I landed silently, turned, and gave the conquered orb a single, dismissive pat. The humans had accidentally acquired a worthy training device. I will allow it to remain. For now, it will serve as a reminder of who the true apex predator is in this household.
