Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human, in a fit of what I can only assume was profound delusion, has presented me with this... orb. It bears the mark of "Mikasa," a name I've heard shouted during those tedious televised human-bouncing festivals. This is, apparently, their "Beach Classic" model, which means it’s designed for sand and sun, two things I actively avoid unless they are contained within a strategically placed litter box or a warm sunbeam on the Persian rug. Its primary features are its colossal size—far too large for a satisfying bap-and-chase—and its bold blue, yellow, and white panels, which I suppose are meant to be visually stimulating. I see its potential not as a toy to be pursued, but as a stationary, modern art piece to be judged. It arrived in a flaccid, pathetic state, requiring my human to perform a strange ritual with a hissing pump, an effort that was mildly amusing but ultimately delays the far more important business of my afternoon nap.
Key Features
- Official size and weight beach volleyball
- Affordable relative to Mikasa's FIVB World Tour and Athens Olympic beach ball
- Three color panel design (blue/yellow/white) helps identify ball movement
- For optimal performance, additional inflation may be required. Ball pump not included.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived limp and folded, a sad vinyl puddle on the living room floor. It smelled sterile, a scent I associate with the annual indignity of a vet visit. The Staff, my human, then produced a long, thin object and began a series of frantic, undignified pumping motions. A slow, asthmatic hiss filled the air, and the puddle began to swell. It grew, and grew, its blue and yellow and white panels stretching taut until it stood before me: a silent, monolithic sphere, impossibly large and perfectly smooth. It was an insult. A challenge. Did they expect me to *chase* this behemoth? The sheer audacity. I gave it a cursory sniff and stalked away, my tail held high in disapproval. For hours, it just sat there, occupying a prime patch of sunlit floor. An immovable, colorful moon that had crashed into my territory. I watched it from the arm of the sofa, my eyes narrowed. It did not skitter. It did not flutter. When I finally deigned to approach and give it a test-pat with a single, unsheathed claw, my paw simply bounced off its unyielding surface. It offered no satisfying resistance, no playful retreat. A failure. A complete and utter waste of perfectly good vinyl. I retired to my velvet cushion for a sulk, leaving the orb to its silent, pointless existence. It was late in the afternoon when the epiphany struck. The sun, now low in the sky, streamed through the window, bathing the top of the sphere in a perfect circle of warmth. I observed it from my new vantage point. The curve… it was not a flaw. It was an invitation. Its size… not an obstacle, but an opportunity. This was not a toy for chasing. My human, in their simple, bipedal mind, had misunderstood its true purpose entirely. This was a throne. With the calculated grace only a feline of my breeding can possess, I took a running leap. I landed atop the orb, my claws finding just enough purchase to steady the slight wobble. And then, I settled. The synthetic material, warmed by the sun, was surprisingly pleasant against my tuxedoed belly. The gentle curve cradled my form perfectly. From this new, elevated perch, I could survey my entire kingdom. The Staff looked up from their glowing rectangle, their face a mask of surprise that quickly melted into adoration. Of course. They were finally seeing what I saw. This Mikasa object wasn't a toy; it was a pedestal, a modern throne for a modern monarch. It was, I decided with a deep and resonant purr, acceptable. Barely.
