Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a moment of questionable judgment, has procured what appears to be equipment for the tiny human's clumsy attempts at ambulation. It's a pair of brightly colored plastic paddles and a garish orange sphere, supposedly for some "street" activity—a concept I find both dirty and beneath me. The whole set, from a brand called "Franklin Sports," reeks of forced exertion and the outdoors. While the oversized sticks are an obvious waste of manufacturing resources designed for beings with no sense of grace, the "low density" ball has a certain… potential. It looks light enough to skitter across the hardwood with a satisfying rattle, provided I can liberate it from the small human's sticky grasp. The rest is just an obstacle between me and my afternoon sunbeam.
Key Features
- LEARN TO PLAY: The Franklin Future Champs NHL Kids Hockey Stick Set is perfect for teaching your little athletes how to play the sport for the first time
- DURABLE CONSTRUCTION: The shaft and blade are constructed with a flexible and durable ABS plastic to withstand the natural wear and tear that comes with playing outside on pavement
- PROMOTES OUTDOOR PLAY: Including 2 sticks for 1-on-1 play, this hockey stick set promotes outdoor play and can get your little athletes outside and active as they test out and practice their Hockey
- LEFT OR RIGHT HANDED SHOT: Straight blade design so all right-handed and left-handed players can practice and get introduced to the game of street hockey
- Includes- (2) 34 inch junior hockey sticks and (1) 65 millimeter low density street hockey ball
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The monstrosities were un-sheathed from their cardboard prison on a Tuesday, an otherwise perfect day for staring intently at a dust mote. From my vantage point on the back of the velvet armchair, I watched my human present the two plastic wands—one an alarming shade of fire-hydrant red, the other a dull blue—to the smaller, louder human. A cacophony ensued. The sticks, made of some cheap-smelling "durable" plastic, clacked against the floorboards, an affront to the quiet dignity of my home. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep, but my ears swiveled, cataloging every wretched sound. Then, a moment of glorious chaos. The small human, in a fit of flailing that it probably considered "sport," lost control of the small orange sphere. It was not a puck, as the packaging vaguely suggested, but a light, hollow ball. It bounced off the leg of the coffee table with a pathetic *thump* and rolled, as if by divine intervention, directly into the shadowed realm beneath the credenza. My kingdom. The small human wailed. The large human got on its knees, brandishing one of the plastic sticks like a clumsy lance, trying to fish the ball out. The straight, artless blade of the stick was useless in such a delicate operation. It scraped and bumped, a fool's errand. I did not move, not at first. I let them struggle. I let their frustration mount. Then, with the studied nonchalance of a monarch, I descended from my throne. I flowed from the armchair like a plume of gray smoke and slipped into the darkness under the credenza. The orange sphere glowed faintly in the gloom. It was mine now. I gave it a single, precise tap with a white-gloved paw. It rolled silently on the dust bunnies, a perfect, captive subject. From the outside world, I heard the human sigh in defeat. "I guess Pete's got it now." The sticks have since been relegated to a corner, monuments to a failed invasion. But the orange ball? It has been granted sanctuary in my domain. I am not a "player" in their ridiculous game. I am a collector, a curator of fine, rollable objects. Late at night, when the house is still, I sometimes bat the sphere out into the moonlight of the living room, watching it skitter across the polished wood. It is not a toy to be shared. It is a trophy, a constant reminder that this territory, and everything within it, ultimately answers to me. The product, therefore, is an unexpected triumph—not for what it is, but for what it has allowed me to become: a victor.
