My ‘Bot Experience

It turned into a long story.

I had made it to the fall of 2004 without experiencing a single automatic litter box, despite always having multiple cats. That was because I’d look at what was being offered, and the engineering part of my brain said, That won’t work.

In every design I saw, the box part was shallow, discouraging cats from digging and leading to clumps stuck on the bottom, but adding more litter would make the box not work. The rake sent out neon warnings, I’m going to be hard to clean. The storage capacity was small.

So I spent my money elsewhere, thanks to the reviews I would read online. Every successful user of the devices had one or two cats who more or less used the device as designed. They fussed over it to get it to work with their cats. I knew that, for every single tricky part where these devices could go wrong, I had a cat who would do it.

So it remained a dream, until I had lunch with a friend. Her mother had gotten two kittens, and my friend wondered if there was a good automatic litter box she could get to help her mother out. I agreed to research the situation, warning her that my previous experience, via others, was not encouraging.

And that night, I found The Grail.

I took one look at the Litter Robot, and the engineering part of my brain said, That will work really well. Yes, it was expensive, but my research had uncovered their reconditioned box offers, with a waiting list. I figured I’d get on the list and use that time to convince Dear Husband. I was being sensible. I was being responsible. When I called them and they said since I wanted black there was a reconditioned unit available right away, I went for it then and there.

Normally, Dear Husband and I discuss large purchases beforehand. But there was nothing to do now but ‘fess up. I’ve found that straightforwardness works best with the male mind. So I went out into the living room, smiled at him, and said, “I just bought an automatic litter box over the Internet.”

Before his illness forced him onto disability, Dear Husband worked on high security projects with international scope and frequent crises. This prepared him well for life with me. So he said, “Oh, one of those raking things?”

“No, this is better. It looks like a cement mixer.”

“And where are we going to put a cement mixer?”

“It won’t fit in the bathroom. It will have to go in the kitchen.”

“You want to put a litter box in the kitchen?”

“It’s all sealed! It needs an outlet. We have a free trial!”

“How much does this thing cost?”

When I told him, that’s when he sank into the nearest chair with his hands over his face. But when he dropped his hands he showed why I love him so much. “Well, you’re the one who does the cat litter.* Are you sure we have a free trial?”

“We do! It’s brilliantly engineered. I know I can make this work!”

For the next week, I was a woman obsessed. It got so bad that at one point, Dear Husband turned to me and said, “You know I love you. I just can’t talk about cat litter anymore.”

When the box arrived, about the size of a new Cadillac, Dear Husband’s skepticism was palpable. But we rearranged the kitchen, finding a unobtrusive space, and found setup was as easy as plugging it in and setting the globe on the base. It was well packed, that was all.

The footprint was the size of two regular boxes, set side by side, and it went up to a little under a yard in height. But I could see that it would work in its own space, so if we put it somewhere, it could operate.

While the cats had been driven away by all the pungent smelling activity involved in the kitchen project, Mr. Bond reappeared for the assembly. He loves supervising assembly. Since it was black, and had lights on it, he assumed we had gotten a new piece of stereo equipment. He watched it operate with his usual interest in things he figures he will be told not to mess with, for his own safety.

So it was priceless to see Mr. Bond’s face when I picked up the jug of litter and poured it into the new device. I could almost see the exclamation points popping out of his head, cartoon style. Now I had his full attention. This was something that had to do with him.

I had his curiosity at peak.