Three things will end a marriage: Infidelity; alienation of affection; trying to assemble and activate a Litter Robot 4.
For those of you who do not have cats as pets, you may wonder what the heck the final item is. But for those of us whose lives are run by the gatos, that advanced piece of technology is the dream to possess.
I know you’ll find this surprising, but manually emptying bog-standard litter trays isn’t the delight you might imagine. It’s back-breaking, odiferous work, and just when you’ve cleaned the pans, the little &^%$#s move in to sully them once again – such a merry dance.
It’s hard to believe that anyone has been working through nights and weekends to build a better litter box, but the geniuses behind the Whisker Litter Robots have done that very thing. The more I read about them, and saw them consistently at the top of review lists, the more I was convinced that we needed at least one in our lives.
And then I saw the price.
At around US$800 before shipping and duty, the Litter Robot 4 is the most expensive solution on the market. How badly did we really want one? Was it honestly that hard a job to scoop litter morning, noon and night? How much did a spray can of Febreze cost?
As I weighed the pros and cons, a sign from above appeared in the local online marketplace. Someone on the island was selling a practically new one, AND it had the extra steps attachment.
My bestie Lynne and I drove to their house and saw our potential purchase in all its glory. Apparently, their two cats weren’t incredibly keen on using it, but perhaps we would have more luck. With our 10 cats (yes, get over it), we had a higher percentage chance of at least one of them giving it a try. Sold!
We bundled what resembled a front-loading washing machine into Lynne’s Kia Soul, and headed home. The plan was to set it up that very night … which ended up being postponed to the weekend. We had to find space for it, there was an app to download and odour control pouches to install.
Finally, last Sunday, we prepared to bring the beast online.
It was not a small apparatus, but we managed to find somewhere to place it where it wouldn’t be tripped over in the night or blocking an exit. There were multiple buttons along the top of the rim, and a light that could be blue, flashing/solid yellow, or red. We put a mound of litter inside, got the bag correctly placed in the waste tray, and then relied on YouTube to show us how to get the odour trap set up.
Lynne was having difficulty connecting to the robot through the app, which led to some mild frustration. Also, because we were completely unfamiliar with how it all worked, we weren’t sure why the light was changing colour and what buttons to push. It didn’t take long before real irritation set in, and had it been a $19.99 purchase, a hammer might have been employed to demonstrate that we meant business. The app simply wouldn’t connect, and why was the interior going through a 360-degree turn when we hadn’t asked it to?
As is usually the case, the moment I asked to take a look at Lynne’s phone and we slowly went through the steps, connection happened. Hurrah! Phase one was complete.
Next, we needed to get to grips with what the lights meant and what the buttons did. It seemed we weren’t the only ones determined to become experts, which began to play havoc with our attempts. Houdini, Millie and Butterscotch were all fascinated to see what made this alien craft tick.
As part of its operation was to turn its interior once the cat had done its business, sifting the excrement from the litter and making it disappear (my favourite part), it had to be super-sensitive to the fact that animals might not just let it get on with its job. They might want to inspect further. Oo, what’s that doing? Ergo, any time even a whisker crossed the threshold, it would immediately pause its cycle until the threat had passed. As Lynne and I watched it go through one slow spin, it took three times longer than it should, thanks to inquisitive witnesses. It was switching from blue light to red light so regularly, it could have been a police car patrolling our living room.
After one rotation, it was clear that this thing could be a life changer, although some damp litter was sticking to the rubber liner rather than dropping into the trap. So, next came the argument about the type of litter we were buying.
“It’s too light,” I said to Lynne. “Because there isn’t the weight when it gets wet, gravity isn’t enough to pull it into the trap.”
“Well, I’m not getting the heavier stuff,” she said, putting her little foot down. “I don’t like it and I don’t think it’s good for the environment. Besides, I can just scrape off the lumps that get left behind.”
I boggled at her. “Are you kidding? We’ve just spent this money so we don’t have to use the litter scoop and scraper. That’s the whole point!”
I can’t remember where we left it, but I know sulking was involved.
A couple of days passed, and as the robot was not in our line of sight, we couldn’t see the cats physically climbing into it. Not a problem, because the app alerted Lynne to the tiniest update, including the percentage fullness of the litter trap, whether the level of fresh litter in the machine was optimal, if it was going through a cleaning cycle … it even told her the weight of the animal that had just used it.
“15.1 pounds – that’s got to be Millie,” she said.
We wondered if this is how parents felt when their toddlers started to use a potty. Was it the same level of excitement? Is there a potty robot out there?
It also occurred to me that as refreshing as the news that we’ve got 10 cats would be to a potential male suitor, constantly updating him on a first date as to how many cats had used the machine in the past hour (“See? She obviously just pooped, and then one of our smaller ones got in … it’s all here in the app!”) would be the clincher. Could a proposal of marriage be far behind?
Based on the results since we assembled it, I have to say that I’m pretty impressed with the Litter Robot 4. We’ll need to get at least two more to handle the brood that roams our home, but if it means no more open pans on the floor, I’m sold.
We may not have enough money left over for food, but we’ll save a fortune on back pills and Febreze.
