Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with schematics for a gargantuan, blue plastic monolith they call the "Cool Wave." Based on the data, this is not a toy for a sophisticated feline such as myself, but rather an outdoor launching apparatus for small, noisy humans. It requires assembly with lumber, an activity I find dreadfully disruptive to my napping schedule. However, its significant elevation and smooth, curved surface present a certain strategic appeal. It could serve as an excellent high-ground observation post or, on a warm day, a perfectly angled sunning lounge. Its potential is entirely dependent on whether its intended, shrieking users can be persuaded to vacate the premises.
Key Features
- Features sturdy, smooth, 1-piece molded-plastic construction. Assembled Dimensions: 91.5 inches L x 20 inches W x 48 inches H
- Proudly made in the USA with a Lifetime against cracks and breaks
- Recommended for children between the ages of 2 to 10 years old and has a weight capacity of 250 lbs.
- Easily mounts to 42" to 48" deck height (mounting screws not included)
- Requires one 2"x4"x8' size of lumber for mounting (not included)
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The day the Blue Intrusion arrived, the backyard symphony of birdsong and rustling leaves was shattered by the grinding of drills and the percussive thuds of a hammer. I watched from the safety of the window sill, my tail twitching in irritation as my human and a neighbor grunted and sweated, bolting the absurdly large plastic channel to the deck. They cheered when they finished, patting the structure as if they’d built a cathedral. I saw it for what it was: a monument to pointless, strenuous activity. For weeks, I ignored it, viewing it as nothing more than a garish blue scar upon my territory. It was a Tuesday of profound and suffocating boredom. The sunbeams were in all the wrong places, the water in my bowl had lost its crispness, and I had already interrogated every dust bunny under the sofa. In a fit of desperation, I sought the outdoors. There it was. The Blue Intrusion. The heat of the day had baked it, and waves of warmth radiated from its surface. I ascended the deck stairs, not to engage with the object, but to pass it. Yet, as I drew level with its peak, I felt its pull. The plastic was impossibly smooth, a solid, seamless river of blue. With the cautious grace of a bomb disposal expert, I placed one paw, then another, onto the precipice. The surface was warmer than the deck wood, a perfect, uniform heat that seemed to seep directly into my pads. I lay down, intending only to absorb the warmth for a moment. The gentle slope was surprisingly comfortable, contouring to my body. I stretched, a luxurious, full-body extension of satisfaction. It was this stretch, this tiny shift in my center of gravity, that was my undoing. Or my liberation. Suddenly, I was moving. The world became a silent, azure blur. There was no friction, no jarring bumps, just a smooth, swift, silent rush. For two glorious seconds, I was not a cat, I was a comet. I landed on the soft grass with a soft *thump*, my dignity and all four paws perfectly intact. I sat for a long moment, processing the event. The world reassembled itself around me. The birds, the leaves, the distant hum of traffic. I looked back up at the slide. It was no mere toy. It was a time machine, a portal that could jettison a creature from a dull moment into a thrilling one. The small humans could have it for their noisy games. I had discovered its true purpose. It was a device for resetting the day, a swift, silent escape hatch from the mundane. And I would keep its secret to myself.
