Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what they call 'boxing gloves,' a term that is frankly an insult to both boxing and gloves. These are, in fact, two colossal, inflatable pillows of a garish, primary color, designed for the small, loud humans to flail about with. From my perspective, they are essentially mobile, air-filled mountains. I suppose the sheer surface area offers a novel, if somewhat unstable, napping platform, and the smooth vinyl might be interesting to test my claws against. However, their primary function appears to involve sudden, noisy movements and the displacement of perfectly still air—two things that are fundamentally offensive to a creature of my refined sensibilities. It's a tremendous amount of effort for very little sophisticated entertainment.
Key Features
- Set includes 1 pair (2 Gloves) of Red OR Blue Mega-sized inflatable Boxing Gloves
- Throw fun, harmless boxing matches with these Banzai Mega Boxing gloves.
- With these inflatable boxing gloves, it's easy to land painless punches on your opponent
- Gloves measure 26" L x 18"W x 14" H. Recommended for ages 5+
- 12" diameter punching surface
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The monstrosities arrived in a state of flaccid collapse, a heap of crimson plastic that smelled faintly of a factory floor. I watched from atop the bookcase as my human, with much huffing and puffing, attached a pump and brought one of the beasts to life. It grew, swelling to an obscene size, its surface becoming taut and shiny. A second one followed. They stood in the center of the living room, two absurdly large, disembodied hands, silent and waiting. They were an affront to the room's Feng Shui, which I had painstakingly arranged through the strategic placement of my naps. My human, bless their simple heart, slipped their own inadequate hands inside the giants and began to bounce on the balls of their feet. "Ready for a round, Pete?" they chortled, advancing on me with one of the crimson behemoths. The glove swooped toward me, not with the speed of a predator, but with the slow, ponderous inevitability of a cruise ship docking. It made a soft *whoosh* as it displaced the air, a sound of profound foolishness. I didn't even deign to move; I simply leaned my head to the side as the twelve-inch punching surface sailed harmlessly past my whiskers. This was not a fight; it was a bizarre form of modern dance, and I was an unimpressed critic. Seeing my lack of engagement, the human lowered the glove to the floor. "Not a fighter, eh?" I took this as an invitation. I hopped down from my perch, my paws silent on the hardwood. I circled the stationary glove, sniffing its seams. It was a challenger, yes, but an unworthy one. I placed a single, perfect paw upon its yielding surface, testing the tension. Then, with the grace only a feline can possess, I leaped atop it. The surface gave slightly, a wobbly but surprisingly comfortable perch. It was like a throne designed by a clown. From my new vantage point, I surveyed my kingdom. The human looked up at me, laughing, their other gloved hand hanging limply at their side. They had intended it to be a weapon of play, a tool for mock battle. But I had seen its true purpose. It was not a glove. It was a pedestal. A slightly unstable, ridiculously red, but ultimately acceptable pedestal, fit for a king. I began to knead the surface with my paws, the plastic squeaking faintly with each push, and let out a rumbling purr of conquest. It would do. For now.
