Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured what appears to be a command console for their noisy, flying insect-machines. This "RadioMaster Boxer" is a dense, black rectangle bristling with switches, knobs, and two prominent joysticks they call "Hall effect gimbals." It’s certainly not for me; it lacks fluff, does not crinkle, and smells sterilely of plastic and ambition. The primary purpose seems to be diverting the human's attention away from important duties like chin scratches and meal preparation. However, the reported smoothness of those gimbals might offer a satisfying resistance to a well-placed paw, and the sheer number of clickable switches presents a fleeting, if ultimately pointless, diversion. Its true value lies in the carrying case it comes in, which I suspect will make for an exquisitely snug, if temporary, nap fortress.
Key Features
- Available with built-in ExpressLRS or 4-in-1/CC2500 MPM RF modules
- Featuring a powerful STM32VGT6 processor with 1MB RAM
- Compact design with excellent ergonomics; New low-profile latching SE switch and momentary SF switch
- Oversized battery compartment- Space for a 2S 6200mAh pack, up to 20-hour duration (Batteries not included); Full sized V4.0 Hall effect gimbals as standard, upgradable to AG01 CNC Hall effect gimbals
- Standard JR module compartment; RadioMaster standardized button layout
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived not in a crinkly bag or a cardboard box ripe for shredding, but in a severe, zippered case, a black sarcophagus for some new technological deity. My human unzipped it with a reverence I found deeply insulting, revealing the device nestled in foam. He called it his "Boxer." It looked less like a pugilist and more like the control panel for a very small, very tedious spaceship. He placed it on the coffee table, a dark monolith amidst the usual clutter, and went to fetch batteries, the fool. This was my chance. I leaped silently onto the table, my soft paws making no sound on the wood. The Boxer was cool to the touch, its plastic housing exuding an aura of complex purpose. I sniffed its various ports and seams, detecting no hint of tuna or bird. My initial tour was one of pure disdain. Then, my paw brushed against one of the gimbals. It moved. Not with the cheap, springy recoil of a lesser toy, but with a fluid, liquid grace. I pushed it again, left, right, up, down. The stick glided as if on a cushion of air, silent and impossibly smooth. This was no mere plaything; this was precision engineering. My cynicism wavered, replaced by a grudging respect for the tactile feedback. My attention then turned to the array of switches. I hooked a claw under a small, silver toggle—the "latching SE switch," as I'd later overhear. I flicked it up. It responded with a crisp, definitive *CLICK* that resonated deep in my bones. It was the sound of a decision being made, of a command being issued. I flicked it down. *CLACK*. Another command. Up, down, *CLICK, CLACK*. I was no longer a cat playing with a button; I was a concertmaster conducting a symphony of binary choices, an admiral issuing orders to an invisible fleet. Each flick was a jolt of absolute authority. When the human returned, he found me sitting perfectly still beside the controller, a paw resting possessively on the gimbal. He chuckled, thinking I was merely intrigued. He did not understand. I had not been playing. I had been communing with it. This Boxer was not a toy to be swatted or chewed. It was an instrument of power, a conduit for will. The buzzing drone it would command was irrelevant. The controller itself, with its silken gimbals and authoritative clicks, was the prize. It is worthy. Not as a distraction, but as a future throne from which I shall survey my domain. The human can borrow it for now.
