Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a moment of questionable judgment that may yet prove brilliant, has procured a trio of oversized, unnaturally colored spheres. Apparently, they are 'Franklin Sports Foam Baseballs,' designed so that clumsy human offspring can swat at them without shattering the household's fragile trinkets. The 'soft foam' aspect means I can likely unleash my full predatory fury without the usual chorus of 'Pete, no!' and the 'official size' suggests a satisfying heft. The high-visibility neon is a thoughtful touch, ensuring I can track my prey even in the low-light conditions preferred for a proper hunt. It could be a magnificent distraction, or it could be yet another lump of inert matter cluttering my napping territory. The jury is still out.
Key Features
- GREAT FOR YOUNG PLAYERS: These soft foam balls are perfect for beginners to learn how to throw, catch, or hit with no bumps or bruises!
- PERFECT FOR BATTING PRACTICE: These foam balls are great for practicing hitting indoors and out! The solid construction ensures that the balls will fly straight and true while the soft foam material prevents damage
- USE INDOORS OR OUTDOORS: The soft foam balls are perfect for practicing throwing, catching, and fielding indoors or out without fear of hitting windows, lamps or anything else!
- OFFICIAL SIZED: These balls are constructed to be approximately the same size as an official baseball to give your games a more authentic feel
- HIGH VISIBILITY: The bright neon colors make these balls easy to see and track even when the sun starts to set
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It appeared without ceremony on the living room rug, a silent, lurid yellow orb. My human placed it there as an offering, a tribute to their furry overlord, and then retreated to watch from the couch. It was not a mouse. It was not a bird. It possessed no feathers, no scent of the wild, only the sterile perfume of a factory. I treated it not as a toy, but as a strange seed pod from an alien world, deposited in my domain to be studied, tested, and ultimately, neutralized. My initial reconnaissance involved a low, cautious circling. I extended my senses, letting my whiskers brush against its unnervingly smooth surface. No heat signature. No vibration. It was inert, yet its presence was a challenge. I deployed a single, needle-sharp claw for a delicate probe. The surface yielded with a strange, silent sponginess, then returned to form. This was not the satisfying resistance of cardboard or the sharp clatter of plastic. This was a new physics. I gave it a tentative pat, expecting it to skitter away across the hardwood. Instead, it offered a dull, heavy *thump* and rolled a few inches, a ponderous, almost insulting, lack of haste. This called for an escalation. A flurry of rapid-fire jabs from my front paws sent it tumbling toward the forbidden territory of the glass-fronted cabinet. I tensed, anticipating the inevitable shout of alarm from the human. But none came. The orb bounced off the cabinet leg with a muffled *thud* and settled. The rules of engagement were different here. This was a consequence-free zone. A new sense of freedom washed over me. I launched myself at it, a full-body check that sent the orb flying in a true, straight arc, its neon form a brilliant comet against the muted tones of the den. It landed silently on the plush armchair, my human’s favorite. It did not knock over the remote. It did not startle the dust bunnies. I retrieved it, hooked a claw into its yielding flesh, and dragged it back to the center of the room. This was not prey. Prey is frantic, foolish, and fragile. This thing was a training drone. A silent, indestructible sparring partner against which I could practice my pounces, my swats, and my ambushes without fear of reprisal. It was worthy. For now, it would be my new project.
