Why did no one tell me how much crap two little, tiny kitties could produce before I decided to adopt them? I’ve given this some thought, and the input to output ratio for those two is scientifically impossible. I don’t know what’s going on – whether they’re feasting on a whole colony of mice at night or hitting the kitty snacks when I’m not looking – but Kitty 1 and Kitty 2 must poop at least three times a day. Each. We clean out the litter box every other day but 3 times 2 cats times 2 days equals a lot of piled-up poop. It’s crazy, and we can’t keep up with the rapid-fire pace of their GI tract.
They may look cute, but those two little kitties are poop machines. It’s a mind-boggling site to behold. I didn’t quite believe it myself, until I actually bore witness. These two kitties just may have produced the eighth wonder of the world.
When my husband first alerted me to the situation, I didn’t believe him because for one, he’s a man, and for two I thought two little kitties could not possibly be culpable for the amount of poop of which he was accusing them. While rolling my eyes, my exact thoughts were something like, “Give me a break. They are two smallish kittens. How much could they really poop?”
Then my family went away for the weekend. So I became responsible for cleaning out the litter box. My husband kindly took on that job (thanks honey!) when we got the cats because I don’t deal well with toilets of any kind, and his responsibilities include cleaning the bathrooms with litter boxes fall under that category. But when he was going to be away for 4 days he warned me I’d have to clean out the litter box at least once while he and the kids were gone. The carefully calibrated plan Kevin devised, if adhered to and properly executed, would perfectly time the litter box cleaning schedule.
The last thing Kevin did - the very last thing - before leaving for the trip was clean out the litter box. With the car running, kids, poles, and skis stuffed inside, Kevin dumped the litter into the trash, poured in fresh litter and hauled the garbage out to the curb. It was 2:45 p.m. on Thursday. This would give me until exactly Saturday evening. By Monday afternoon Kevin and the kids would be back just as the litter box required another cleaning.
Kevin’s parting words to me were, “Don’t forget. You have until Saturday night. Then the litter box must be cleaned.”
“I know. I know.” I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. “Now go. Have a good time.”
I had a lovely, relaxing weekend and come Saturday night, I was perfectly ready for what had to be done. I grabbed a garbage bag and headed down to the basement, but when I unlatched the plastic dome cover to the litter box and cast it aside I was shocked and horrified by what awaited me.
Kevin had been right this whole time. It was exactly as he’d described. There was poop everywhere. And it had only been two days. Two days.
So with pooper scooper in hand I set to work. I scooped and I scooped and I scooped, and when I thought I was done, I scooped some more.I started with the obvious choices first (Kevin had mentioned one of the cats doesn’t even bother to cover up her mess, and I found that to be true as well), but when finished with those I dug around for the hidden jewels. For hours I scooped, unearthing new clumps with each swing of the pooper scooper. My arms began to ache, and I grew parched from the labor. I was exhausted and quite frankly overwhelmed by the sheer volume. The poop was never ending, and I began to fear the fresh box might not make it until it’s next scheduled cleaning. I could leave no poop behind. This boxed had to last until Kevin’s return.
Finally around midnight I finished. I tripled bagged my haul and threw the bag outside the back door. I thanked God it was over and vowed never to distrust Kevin again.
The craziest part is that the cats aren’t even fully grown. I can’t imagine anything more than what I witnessed that night. I might actually start selling tickets to see my basement cat box because the sight is truly a phenomenon. One lump in the cat box was even excreted in the likeness of the Virgin Mary.
If you feel my pain, please vote for me, and if you don’t, vote for me anyway because I probably just saved you from a lifetime of pooper scooping.