You are currently browsing the daily archive for July 10, 2019.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo was delighted to see this post by Gail Heriot over at the Puppy-Blender’s place this morning:  Today is the anniversary of the birth, in 1920, of Ed Lowe, the inventor of kitty litter (which he came up with in 1947).  G’wan over and read the story of how this now-seemingly-must-need product came about.  (It’s a true Yankee Ingenuity/entrepreneurial tale.)

To be perfectly honest, although Ol’ Robbo loves this kind of obscure information (an actual sin according to some theologians – a kind of gluttony, I b’lieve), and although I’ve been knee-deep in cats most of my life, I can’t say that I’d ever thought about the origins of Tidy-Cat and its ilk.  Now I know.

We’ve three litter-bins at Port Swiller Manor, one for each floor.  (This was somewhat more necessary when we had three cats, the eldest of which hated her much younger fellows.  With the eldest’s passing last fall, I suppose we really don’t need that much sand anymore but we’ve never got round to cutting back.  And cats, after all, are creatures of habit just like Ol’ Robbo.)

There’s supposed to be a regimen vis a vis who is assigned to clean out which litter.  Somehow, that regimen is never maintained, and the whole biznay devolves into a sort of last-across-the-tracks game of chicken as to who will be first to break down in disgust and start digging.  (A similar game is played regarding emptying the kitchen trash.  I usually lose that one, but when I complain I get a lot of “You’re the man so it’s your job” pushback.)  And even when a Gel can be compelled to do the litter, I notice they don’t go very deep, but merely skim the surface.

That brings up a perpetual debate about proper litter depth.  Mrs. R likes to say you don’t need a beach.  Oh, yes you do, I always argue.  Skimp on depth and much more of the, er, doings remain at or near the surface.  And stop to think about where the kittehs put their delicate little feet  after making a pit stop.  (Kitchen counter? Dining room table? My lap any time I sit down?  Anybody? Bueller?)

Anyhoo, those of you who have feline companions and who, without Mr. Lowe’s brainstorm, would still be fooling about with dirt and sawdust if not just kicking the little brutes outside, will be more than happy to join me in raising a glass in salute to his birthday!

Archives

Blog Stats

  • 474,283 hits
July 2019
M T W T F S S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
293031