As I was carrying the 30 lb., or so, garbage bag of clumped cat waste out to the garbage can today I began thinking of archaeologists. Archaeologists of the future to be more precise. After we’re long gone and our landfills have been buried under layers of dirt and sediment what will archaeologists make of all of the clumped cat waste they dig up? And, by extension, what will they muse over the preserved poop in baby and adult diapers? This presupposes of course that future cat owners and parents have figured out other ways of dealing with pet and human waste. I don’t know, maybe with enough heat pressure and time, I’m thinking of the rock cycle right now, all of our tossed poop will wind up as precious gems that will make the archaeologists fabulously wealthy; but I think not.
Since the arrival of $15,000 cat my system of dealing with his waste, and that of his friends that arrived later, has gone through several iterations. Cat Box 1.o was a large cat box with a hood and a charcoal filter on the top. I figured it would be large enough for three cats and had the added bonus of the charcoal filter to control odor. I soon realized this wasn’t going to work. I walked into the room where I had placed Cat Box 1.o and said out loud, “What’s all this shit on my wall?!….Oh, it’s shit on my wall.” I had failed to realize 1) $15,000 cat would only pee at the entrance to Cat Box 1.0, 2) as he exited the box from doing his business the magic clumping litter would stick to his paw causing him to flick his paw around just as I would if I had stepped in something sticky.
Cat Box 2.o involved removing the hood from the box hoping he would pee in other places and not get litter clumped to his foot. Anticipating some flicking I lined the area underneath and around Cat Box 2.o with cardboard. I walked in to clean out the box the following day and said out loud, “What’s all this shit on my wall?!….Oh, it’s shit on my wall.” I had underestimated the amount of flicking that occurred with trying to bury ones business. Having never finding myself in such a situation, how was I to know? I mean, I’ve used ‘cat holes’ while backpacking but that’s not nearly the same thing.
Each iteration has involved a clean out process. I empty the boxes each evening into a bucket and dump the contents of said bucket into a 2o gallon trash can in the garage. Every Sunday, the day before trash day, I take the contents of the garage can out to the alley can so it can make it’s journey to tease archaeologists of the future; hence the 30+ pound bag of clumped cat waste.
Cat Box 3.o involved a second box brought by my brother when he arrived with my other two charges for six months, a rather large drop cloth from Orchard Supply Hardware, and a plug in air freshener. So far, Cat Box 3.0 is the shit.
$15,000 cat is diabetic and I give him insulin shots twice a day. Before he left I asked my brother, “Um, what symptoms will Lilo have if he starts to get worse?”
“Oh, he might start drinking a LOT of water and maybe sleeping too much.” At the time that sounded reasonable. But having $15,000 cat and his buddies for a while now I’m wondering, how can you tell if a cat is sleeping too much?
I mean, these are just from today: