My human, in a fit of what I can only assume is misdirected athletic ambition for the hairless kittens of the species, has procured these peculiar orbs from a brand called SKLZ. They are, essentially, large, spherical prey items designed to look like something the giants on the glowing rectangle throw at each other. They boast a "soft, cushioned construction" which, I admit, is intriguing—it implies a satisfying squishiness that won't chip a fang. The prominent red stitching offers a delightful texture for hooking a claw into. While their sheer size might be off-putting to a lesser feline, I see a worthy adversary, a challenge to my wrestling skills. The fact that they come in a pair is a practical touch, ensuring a replacement is ready when the first is inevitably banished to the dusty dimension beneath the sofa. This could be a respectable opponent, far superior to those flimsy plastic balls that offer no real fight.
It appeared in the living room without ceremony, a perfect white sphere resting in a patch of morning sun. I observed it from my post atop the scratching tower, my tail giving a single, dismissive flick. The human called it a "Safety Ball," a ridiculous name. Safety is a state of mind, not an object. I descended from my perch with the fluid grace of smoke and began my patrol, circling the intruder at a respectable distance. It was larger than my usual quarry, immaculate, with a curious crimson thread snaking across its surface like a scar. It smelled of nothing, a void, which was in itself suspicious.
My initial prod was a test of character. A single, unsheathed claw extended, I tapped its flank. Instead of the hard, unyielding *clack* of cheap plastic or the frantic skittering of a lesser toy, the orb gave way. It had a soft, dense core, a surprising pliability. My claw sank in just enough to feel resistance, a feeling that spoke not of weakness, but of resilience. This was no common bauble. This was a challenge. I backed away, lowered my body, and let the ancient hunter's instinct wash over me. The orb sat there, placid and stoic, its red stitching mocking my patience.
The attack was a blur of gray and white fur. I launched myself, aiming to subdue the thing with a full-body pounce. I expected a struggle, a chaotic bounce that would send it careening off the bookcase. But it simply absorbed my assault, tumbling a short distance before coming to a dignified halt. It was like wrestling a cloud. I pounced again, this time sinking my teeth into its soft hide. It yielded, offering no painful crack against my jaw, only a firm, satisfying squish. I could bunny-kick it with all my might, and it would simply roll, patiently waiting for my next move.
I did not conquer the orb that day. One does not conquer the moon or the tide. We came to an understanding. It was not a toy to be chased into submission, but a sparring partner, a silent guru against which I could practice my formidable arts without fear of indignity or injury. I finally dragged it by its crimson seam into the shadows beneath the armchair, not as a kill, but as a treasured possession. The human can keep the spare; this one has found its purpose. It is worthy.
Exhibit A — the specimen
The Particulars
—Reduced impact training balls provide an authentic baseball look with soft, cushioned construction
—Helps youth players build confidence by reducing fear about impact
—Same size and visual cues as standard baseballs for effective training
—Comes with 2 Safety Balls
—Standard baseball circumference of 9 inches
Pete's Verdict
★★★★★
A treasured sparring partner. It is worthy.
Classified
Acquire This Trinket
Should you insist. Pete is unbothered either way.
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Filed under: SKLZ
