A Litter Box That Finally Works For Us

I don't often do product reviews. I'm not a popular-enough blogger to warrant PR emails that offer me free products to try out and blog about. My popularity doesn't concern me. I've withdrawn (on purpose) from the race for more readers. If people find me, great. If they don't, that's fine. I blog for my friends and my family, but more importantly, for myself.

Once in a while, I'll find a product I just have to write about.

Today, it's the Tidy Cats® Breeze Litter System. About two months ago, we saw this product on the shelves in Walmart. We were going to replace our old litterbox since we found that it was leaking, even with plastic liners. Ick. The basement grew very smelly, and since it was Chris' chore to clean the litter box, it was rarely done, and the old clay litter reeked. Maisie became very sensitive, and she started to pee outside the box and poo in remote corners of the basement. It's a concrete basement floor. Ick.

Even after changing the litter every week, the smell remained. So when we saw the Breeze® on the shelves, we did the math. The start-up supplies are certainly more expensive than a standard litter pan and clay litter, but we had open minds about price. We'd pay money to not have a smelly house. Even the fancy and oh-so-expensive LitterMaid® systems with the motorized rake failed my tests in the past (the poo would still be wet because neither cat would bury her treasures, and it would cake on the rake). But we were willing to try something new again. Within a month, the Breeze® system would pay for itself, essentially.

We followed the instructions for the transition, setting up the Breeze® next to our old litter box. She used it right away, but we forgot to remove the old box in the time period, so she reverted, and eventually, a slick stream of god-knows-what flowed from under the box. In one hour-long session of rubber gloves and sweat and swear words, I threw out the old litter box, wiped up the icky stuff, then scrubbed the floor with hot water and soap, followed by a vinegar rinse and then a water rinse. No more smelly floor.

The Breeze® system works like this. What seem like not enough pellets are sprinkled over a plastic crate at the bottom of the top tray. A pull-out tray is seated below this. In the tray goes what is basically a gigantic maxi pad. When Maisie pees on the pellets, it slips through the pellets onto the pad below where it is instantly absorbed. When she poops, the feces rest on top of the pellets, where you scoop them out with a standard plastic scooper. We purchased a some plastic garbage can with a swinging lid, and I taped some charcoal smell-no-more pads to the lid and lined the can with double garbage bags. When we scoop out the poop, it goes right into the can. Weekly, we change out the pad, and it goes in there as well. The pellets need to be replaced every month.

It works great. No more smell. No more "accidents" when the clay litter doesn't smell right to Maisie. Just perfect wonderfulness. And now Maisie gets to keep living with us.

Note: The pad is very full after a week. It must be changed. We didn't do this for the first three weeks of owning the system, and the tray was filled to the brim with cat urine. Disgusting. But if you remember to change it every week, there isn't a problem.

The One We Kept

Once Anna decided to rush into the world, Chris and I finalized our decision to go ahead with the cat plan. We didn't talk about it much before hand. I think we had two conversations about it. I kept getting very emotional, so I just wouldn't talk.

The plan was to surrender my cat while I was in the hospital with Anna. Chris would take care of the details, and I wouldn't have to be involved.

There were some issues. Since our local humane society is no longer the de facto drop-off site for strays in our county, they will not always accept surrendered animals. They tried scheduling an appointment for surrender two weeks out. Our nice, neat little plan was collapsing.

Chris called them back to explain the situation to them, how we wanted the cat surrendered before the baby came home. They relented. Chris made arrangements for Adira's medical file to be forwarded to the shelter. He got everything ready for her to go.

Maybe it was a bad idea then for me to go home to have dinner with Ben while Anna was still in the hospital. I was already a hormonal wreck, and I was missing Ben, and Adira missed me. While I sat in the living room eating, Adira was sitting on the back of my chair, licking my face and arms, nuzzling me and being the sweetest cat ever.

I just sat there and cried (kind of like I'm doing now).

Anna was released the next day, so Chris brought Adira to the shelter in the morning. Nothing short of a miracle, my mom answered the hospital phone while I was packing all of our hospital things to go home. It was Chris calling. He was having second thoughts as he drove Adira. I'm sure she was crying and meowing (she hates car rides). I don't know if I would have been strong enough to tell him to go through with it.

He did. And we haven't talked about it. We quickly learned to say "the cat" instead of "the cats." I'm learning to try to appreciate the one we kept, Maisie.

She's just so annoying sometimes... and she's so NOT Adira. But, she loves children and babies and she always uses the litter box, even if it's way past the time it should have been cleaned.

And she's kind of cute, once in a while. Pure white, she has one blue eye and one yellow eye. I just wish she was Adira. I just wish I could have kept Adira. I miss her lots. I hate thinking about what her life is like at the shelter.

The Cat and I

I don't know why I couldn't stay in bed. Around 2:30, my mind started spinning, my emotions churning. I switched from libidinous passion to delirious happiness to shoe-on-your-head silliness. All while lying perfectly still.

So it was time to get out of bed.

The subject of the cats is on the table again. No, Adira hasn't made another mistake. She gets her dose of prozac at least every three days, and she seems to be functioning properly. Right now, she's curled up at my feet on the ottoman.

I've been a cat person all my life. When I was in fourth grade, we moved into a rented farmhouse, and I was allowed outdoor kitties. I had several over the next few years. Eventually, the number tapered down to two when we moved to the northwoods. Then one. Then none. Adira came into my life when I was seventeen, an olive branch from my parents.

I had a dream that I found a little marmalade kitten with a red bow around her neck. My mom and I searched through many humane society shelters until I found that kitty of my dream. And Adira, then Mandy, became mine.

While I was in my first year of college, she was cared for by my mother and was relegated mostly to the basement. My dad has awful allergies, but he had promised, and so Adira stayed.

My sophomore year, my sister started university at the same place as me, and we were allowed to get an apartment together instead of living in the dorms. Adira and her cat moved in with us. Then when I lived by myself, it was just me and Adira. A few years later, I got her a funny little white kitty named Maisie.

As a single girl, I loved being a cat owner. They were my constant companions. Adira and I share a special connection, perhaps imagined, but often sensed. She's content to sit by my shoulder for hours, keeping watch. Such loyalty.

So what changed? Well. I got married. Adira started feeling that it wasn't that necessary to actually pee in the litter box, content with the floor adjacent. I had a baby. Now I'm having another. And having pets is no longer a priority for me.

Being a dutiful cat mother, I spent hundreds to have Adira diagnosed with something. Turns out she's only sick in the head. She has an anxiety problem, one that is treatable with generic prozac. Even a generic medicine costs money when you can't add a cat to your health insurance.

Did I mention she bites Ben? She hates children. She gets upset and hissy whenever a child approaches her, even if they aren't targeting her. Living in a 900 square foot house with two rug rats isn't going to be pleasant for her.

I love her dearly, I'm just not sure I love her enough to fight to keep her, though nobody is asking me to get rid of her. Nobody except that little voice in my head. She'd be put to sleep almost immediately because she isn't able to be re-adopted due to her anxiety issues and her problem with children.

I can totally imagine life without her. My mom has offered to subsidize her surrender fees. My husband has offered to bring her to the shelter himself while I'm away. We'd be able to get rid of the litter box in our bedroom because the other cat is perfectly willing to use the one in the basement.

So what's holding me back? What the hell is all this wet stuff dripping down my cheeks? Even though my heart is starting to say, "It's time," my head reminds me that I have about a month of generic prozac left. Unless she makes another mistake while on the happy blue pill, she gets to stay. I feel a bit like a monster.

Moving. Really. No. REALLY.

Last night as I slept (or didn't sleep), my mind kept running through a huge assortment of tasks that I need to perform TODAY. What is significant about today? Ummm. It's the day before we get the keys to our new house. It's also the first day that I can officially pack up the essentials.

That's it folks. Everything's getting packed up tonight. We're leaving out a few changes of clothes per family member, and a couple extra rolls of toilet paper, but otherwise, everything's going in a box (or a suitcase, or a laundry basket).

Left to Pack, by Cheryl.
Seven half-eaten boxes of cereal.
Spices and Baking Supplies.
Dried Pasta.
Instant Oatmeal.
The Blender.
The Can Opener.
The Toaster.
The Rest of Our Dishes.
Cookware. (Like I'm actually going to be cooking in the next few days).
Thus concludes the kitchen.

Ben's room, the one we tried to leave as much as possible so he would have some stability.
Sheets and Blankets off of his spare bed.
Extra changing table accoutrements, like our supply of diapers, Diaper Genie refills, baby wipes, etc.
Curtains and Curtain Rods.
His Clothes.
His Extra Blankies.

The Hall Closet.
Sheets, Pillowcases.
Towels.
Socks, Underwear.
Maxi Pads.

Um yeah. That's about it. Everything else, like the rest of Ben's toys, will be hauled over to the new house in laundry baskets. It's just not worth packing.

Adira Update, or, The Tale Of The Peeing Cat:
The director of our local humane society suggested that I'd feel a lot better about my decision if I went ahead and spent the money on a UTI test for my cat. I'll also explore the idea of kitty prozac. And really, last night, as I was trying to get to sleep but couldn't because she was lying on my belly and I wanted to turn over, I was petting her and trying to imagine life without her. I couldn't. I hated the idea of her dear body being lifeless. But oh well. If it ends up needing to happen, I'll put the health of my children over the life of my cat.

Why Can't You Just Pee In The Damn Box?

For the past week, I've been trying to convince myself to be unemotional about this. To detach myself from the emotional aspect of this issue and just do it.

When I was a little girl, I had lots of cats. Since my dad was allergic, they were outdoor cats. For the most part, I just had two at a time. Sometimes, after a birth, as many as five. Since they were outside, inevitably cats would get run over. And my mother, being Wonder Mom, would get the shovel and scrape up the kitty remains and get a shoe box for me to bury.

I could never figure out how she could do it. My little heart was broken, and there she was, all stalwart and matter-of-fact, peeling kitty parts off the street. Of course now I realize she had never developed an attachment to my cats. Any pain she was feeling was for me and the pain I was going through. They weren't really her pets, though.

Now as an adult, I have two cats. Adira, an orange tabby from the shelter, came to me when I was seventeen. She's been my best friend ever since. Very affectionate, very possessive. When she was five, I adopted a companion for her, a little white kitten with one blue eye and one yellow eye. Maisie. They tolerate each other, and seem to enjoy harassing each other. They fight, and they lick each other's wounds.

When Chester moved in with me, Adira developed an issue. She started to pee on the floor a foot away from her litter box. At first she would only do this when her box was overdue for a change, but then she'd start doing it randomly. So we did what the experts recommend. We tried changing her litter to a different brand. We added another box so she wouldn't have to compete with Maisie for box time. We experimented with box privacy, like having one with a hood, without, etc. We religiously cleaned the floor where she'd pee with enzyme cleaners. Many different brands just in case one was better than the other.

Nothing worked. For a while, she'd only do it about once a month. When I was pregnant with Ben, it made me nervous, and figured we'd have to deal with it more drastically when he was toddling around. I would have to train him about being around litter boxes without playing in them, but it would be hard to train him to spot the puddle and to stay away.

Adira knows that life is going to be changing again. She glares at me every time I pack another box. And she's peeing on the floor at least once a day now.

To be honest, we can't afford the vet bills necessary to diagnose any possible health problems. And the vet doesn't think it's a physical problem anyway (personally, I don't either). We can barely afford vaccinations, let alone lab work. It's not like we can get public assistance for vet bills. The state just doesn't care.

So where does that leave us? We're moving this weekend into a house with hardwood floors. Cleaning pee off of linoleum is one thing, but trying to get all of it out of hardwood floors would be next to impossible.

I emailed our local humane society this morning to ask about surrender fees. I know Adira's not a good candidate for adoption, and that she would be put to sleep. It's intensely sad and upsetting. I feel like such a cold, heartless bitch for considering it. I love her dearly, but I can't have her live with me anymore.

I will miss her fat, warm little body curled up against my belly every night when I'm trying to get to sleep. I toss and turn at least three times before I'm comfortable, and she's never gotten the hint to wait about fifteen minutes before cuddling with Mommy. It's a dance of kicking her off of my body pillow every five minutes and then welcoming her back. Maisie is a nice cat, but Adira is something special. We've always had a very emotional, psychic connection. She's been through all my dramas of my early twenties, all my roommates, all my moods.

So. What Would Mommy Do? That Wonder Mom who could scrape dead kitty bodies off of the street and help her daughter bury the remains? That Wonder Mom who hasn't had a pet of her own for years? Well, the secret about Wonder Mom is her incredibly tender heart but steely will and courage. She would weep and mourn the loss of a pet, but she would do what's best for her family.

Bookish Thursday, Lilian Jackson Braun

For Bookish Thursday, I'm going to exposite the wonders of another light-reading author I love, Lilian Jackson Braun. She's the prolific writer of the Cat Who... books.

I came across her the same way I came across Dick Francis, in the audiobook section of a library. Since then, I've read or heard more than two dozen of her pleasant stories of Qwilleran, Koko and Yum Yum.

First of all, I love cats. Maybe not as much as I did before I had Ben (now they just seem needy, dirty and smell), but I still love them. I've had cats since I was eight. Adira, my oldest cat at 8.5 years old, is a darling orange short-hair tabby who has stuck by me through the insanity of the last 8.5 years of my life. Her cohort, Maisie, an all-white short-hair with one blue eye and one hazel eye, isn't nearly as emotionally connected, but still amusing. It's an obvious leap, then, to think that I might enjoy a good cat story.

And wouldn't you know it, I do. And the Cat Who books are my favorite blending of the cat and mystery genre.

While the cats are delightful and intriguing to read about, it's really Qwilleran who stole my heart. 1. He was a journalist in the big cities Down Below, and I majored in Communications with an emphasis in print journalism. 2. He has a gruff, dry, sarcastic sense of humor not unlike my own. 3. He's a charitable soul who enjoys helping deserving people. 4. He knows the craziest, most amazing people. I think that if I were living in Moose County, I would be harboring a secret crush on Mr. Q. His millions of dollars in the bank doesn't diminish him in my eyes either.

One of the reasons I love these books so much is the location in which the majority of the action takes place. Pickax is the melding of Minocqua (where I went to high school in the Northwoods of Wisconsin) with its tourist-trap popularity and the UP of Northern Michigan with its backwoods-common-folks-practical sensibilities (where my parents grew up). I recognize exaggerated caricatures of some of the people my parents have talked about all of my life. But mostly, I recognize the slow pace, the familiarity with your neighbors, and the simple pleasures of ultra-small town life.

Braun's books are my favorite escapist literature.

Insurance, Bathroom Redo

Chester and I have the pleasure of working for the same company. I'm in Editorial, he's in Systems. I play with words, he plays with computer stuff. We had our yearly open enrollment meeting with HR today to discuss next year's health insurance options. Damn, that stuff is expensive. We have to reassess whether or not we'll both have individual insurance or just make like a family and have it all come off of one of our paychecks. I wish we could afford a financial advisor for this. My brother is a CPA, but I don't want him knowing how broke we are.

Anyway. Work has been slow for me today. It's taken forever for me to get some pages across my desk, and now that I have some, I'm waiting on answers from other departments. Oh the joy. Good news, I get to leave in thirty minutes to go pick up my baby from daycare. And we get to play at Aldi's to get the cheap basics for food, and then the Super Walmart for everything else.

Don't judge me.

Tonight, if I have the energy (unlikely due to this nasty cold I can't seem to shake), I'll wash down our bathroom walls in preparation to start painting. Yay! We're getting closer to being done redoing the bathroom. This place is a rental, so we're constantly balancing how much we want to put into it versus, "It's a rental, this is not an investment." But the shower doors really did have to come down. I couldn't give Benji a bath in there with the doors up. I wouldn't have access to all of him. And that's dangerous.

So the doors came down, and an industrial strength shower rod went up. And soon we'll be painting the walls two different colors (a deep, dark blue on two walls, and a dark tan on the opposite walls). It'll blend nicely with the shower curtain I bought from overstock.com that has many shades of grayish blue and tan in a fine-line seersucker plaid. We're also replacing the wall-size mirror behind the vanity with a smaller, framed mirror that has a frame of burnished silver curlicues... kind of like wrought iron.

The biggest change will be relocating the kitty box from its spot in the bathroom to having a box in each of our bedroom closets. I'm slightly concerned with the smell factor, but it'll be a big improvement from having a giant, open litter box right next to the toilet. We'll be putting a little cabinet in its place in the bathroom, so hopefully the cats will know that they can't pee there anymore. In all, we'll have three boxes for two cats, which is what we're supposed to have. It's been difficult finding good places for litter boxes in this apartment. There aren't many nooks and crannies that we can keep open for cat use.

I'll post pictures of the final product in our bathroom when it's done. Hopefully, that'll be by next week, though I'm not holding my breath.