Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite lack of understanding, has presented me with a pair of garish orange orbs. Apparently, these are "Water Basketballs," designed for their strange ritual of flailing about in the giant outdoor water dish. They boast a textured grip for their clumsy hands and a durable build, which I suppose is necessary given their propensity for destructive "fun." While the included pump promises a new and irritating noise to add to the household symphony, the balls themselves hold no appeal for a sophisticated being such as myself. They are for *water*. Need I say more? The only redeeming quality is the potential spectator sport of watching the humans fail to use them correctly.
Key Features
- 2 PACK WATER BASKETBALLS: Make a splash on your next pool day; No more chasing balls out of the pool with this water basketball 2 pack with included ball pump
- SIZE 3: Premium quality 7 inch diameter balls for compatible pool basketball hoops; Great for ages 11 and under
- ANTI-SLIP: Balls feature contact textured grip points to keep the ball in your hands so you can splash around all you want and shoot with confidence
- DURABLE BUILD: Sturdy basketballs with thick wall construction to withstand pool play and horsing around in the water
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived on a Tuesday, an offense in itself, as Tuesday is reserved for my second-most-important nap of the week. The human tore it open with the glee of a simpleton, revealing two spheres the color of a sunset I once disapproved of. They were not for me; their scent was of plastic and chlorine, an acrid perfume that spoke of the Great Wet Place in the backyard, a place I studiously ignore. My human took one of the spheres and a noisy, wheezing contraption and began the ritual of inflation. The sphere swelled, its pockmarked surface expanding, and I felt a strange sense of unease, as if I were witnessing the birth of a minor, and very annoying, planet. I observed the proceedings from my throne atop the warm patio stones, a safe and dry distance from the splash zone. The human tossed the orange planet into the shimmering blue void. It landed with a hollow *plunk*, a sound that vibrated through the water and into my whiskers. This, I surmised, was not a hunt. It was a sacrifice. The human child, a particularly loud specimen, then began its strange water dance, thrashing and yelling as it pursued the floating orb. The "anti-slip grip" seemed to work, as the child could, on occasion, actually hold onto the thing before launching it with startling ineptitude toward a plastic ring. The sphere seemed to live a life of its own. It would float serenely one moment, a patient celestial body, only to be violently submerged the next. It would fly through the air, spinning on its axis, before crashing back into the chemical sea. It was an object of pure chaos, a catalyst for noise and wetness. I watched for what felt like an eternity, my gray fur unruffled, my tuxedo front immaculate. This was not play. This was a cautionary tale about the dangers of unsupervised recreation. The ball was not an adversary to be stalked, but a fool to be pitied, caught in an endless cycle of being thrown and retrieved by creatures who find this sort of thing "fun." As the sun began to dip, the humans retreated, leaving the orange sphere floating alone in the now-still water. It bobbed gently, a lonely sentinel in a silent pool. My final verdict? It is an object of profound uselessness to any creature of taste. It is durable, yes, but so is a rock, and I don't see them throwing rocks in there. It is a tool for madness, a distraction from the truly important things in life, such as sleeping in a sunbeam and demanding dinner an hour early. I give it one paw-tip down, not out of malice, but out of sheer, unadulterated boredom. It is unworthy. Now, if you'll excuse me, that sunbeam isn't going to lie in itself.
