Convenience is Odor-Free Bliss

I got this friend -- Boots. I know, stupid name. But a great guy; give you the kibble out of his bowl.

Boots has this "inconvenient" home life -- his human doesn't like to scoop. Doesn't like to empty until the "ambiance" makes the wallpaper curl. It's so bad that when we're out on the prowl, I have to make excuses why I can't stop up. The last one was really lame -- "I'm havin a new squeaky put in my favorite mousy." I'm embarassed thinking about it.

And all because his person wants her life to be convenient. Then get a SmartScoop. Hello?

Boots isn't a big eater, so with SmartScoop, she'd only have to empty the bag every week, week and a half. Change the litter once a month. What could be more convenient? A butler, sure, but be realistic. With SmartScoop it's like no one even uses the box -- and Boots does most of the time.

SmartScoop does the sccop-n-rake automatically. No mess. No odor. We're talkin pure cat bliss. With a capital P. I tried to tell her. I stood outside on her bedroom window ledge -- no way I'm going in until she changes that box -- and yelled, "You want convenience? Get a SmartScoop! While your neighbors can still stand to live next door to you!"

But all she did was throw a slipper at the window and tell me to stop caterwaulin'. Is that even a word?

Stupid human. I guess there's a reason they call it "Smart" Scoop.

Clean Litter - Warm Heart

Let me ask you a question. What's the worst thing in the world? Bar none.

I know all you liberals will say things like "the Middle East" or "the economy." Boo Hoo. Cry me a river. You couldn't be more wrong. Because, truly, what could possible be worse than settling down in the ole box with a few pages of the latest People, and stepping in...let's just call it "old times." Barf. Barf. Barf. Starting to see reality, yet?

My human was what you'd call a "casual scooper." No discipline. No sense of urgency. My box was as neglected as that dorky guy she used to go out with. The one who keeps calling. But I digress.

I was getting desperate. So I did a little "out of the litter box" thinking. Every time she left her computer unattended, I typed in the SmartScoop website.  Then I'd stand beside my box and do my best Pagliacci -- at the top of my lungs. After about a month she started to notice a pattern. So I upped my game with a few nocturnal visits to the shoes she laid out for work the next day. Who says humans can't be trained.

Long story short: I got my SmartScoop motorized litter box and she got clean shoes. Win-win.

Later, litter buddies.