The Litter Box

I recently helped my sister go through some of my parents papers which have been sitting in her basement for over 20 years since they died.  My mother kept everything, birthday cards, 5 year diaries, receipts, love letters, newspaper articles, you name it.  It was a difficult chore but had to be done because my sister is pre-planning her eventual move into a smaller place.  Years ago both my mom and my mom-in-law sent me all the letters I had written in the 70's and 80's, a time when my husband, son and I were more or less homesteading, i.e. we lived quite primitively compared to usual North American standards and slowly built our farm to its current "modern" state.  I have plans, plans yet to be executed, to delve through all these letters and try to write a sort of story style history of our back-to-the-land experience. The following story, however, found among my mom's stuff, was written when my son was in high school and I was working part-time locally as a bookkeeper.

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October, 1991

      Last July we went visiting one evening at our friends Florence and Steve's. In amongst our more lofty conversations on farming and politics Florence and I got to talking about kitty litter boxes, the main issue, of course, being stink!  For years our cat box has been in our spare room but we were expecting overnight guests to sleep there.  I couldn't expect them to sleep in the cat's toilet so I tried putting Ms Kitty Cat's box in my office under my drafting board. A few days of that convinced me it wasn't a viable alternative.  Since we have no porch or basement this annoyance graduated to a real problem.  Well Florence had THE answer and off we went to the bottom of her stairs to view it first hand.  What a marvelous kitty litter box she had!  It had a hood over the top and a charcoal filter to soak up some of the ammonia smell, and I wanted one now, now, now.

      Ever since that day I kept my eyes open and looked here and there, whenever I got to here and there which is not very often, and I never did find a marvelous litter box like Florence's.  I tried moving the litter box into the bathroom where I could open a window just above it, and I changed it a lot more often. This was better but I nearly came undone when our young dog Jenny was in heat.  We kept her in the house to avoid unwanted breeding and she, unfortunately, took to digging in the box every chance she got.  Uck!  Non-stinky cat litter boxes were beginning to invade my dreams! I began to construct special cat box stations in hide-away places in my mind, and drop hints on my husband's head, he being the household builder of whatever needed building.  But you can imagine just how far down the list he'd place the construction of a special place for a litter box.

      You may be starting to wonder why I just didn't go buy a litter box like Florence's.  It's my quirky personality that stopped me I guess. When I go to town I'm on a mission.  I have my list and I'm not a shopper.  Like I told my son, if all consumers were like me the economy of Canada would suffer dearly.  But about a month ago I had a bit of extra time so I stopped in at a recently opened pet store to see if they had a hooded cat box.  The proprietor said he had just sold his last one but would be glad to order one for me. It should be in on Monday.  Yippie!

      Monday came and went but I couldn't or wouldn't go to town that day - going to town always seems to take up a whole day and I usually come back a couple of hundred dollars poorer and in a rotten mood.  But by the following Wednesday I made a special effort to go in.  Alas the pet store owner's supplier was all out of hooded cat boxes so I was once again out of luck.  I left my name and number and said - if you ever...  And more time passed by.

     In the mean time my cat had taken to hanging her behind on the outside of her box and peeing on the floor.  I know, I know, most sane people would by now have chucked the cat outside on a permanent basis, but she's old and not used to the cold weather.  Besides, I love her.

     Last Wednesday morning my husband said, "By the way, the pet store called and your litter box is in."
      "When did he call?" I said.
      "I don't know, last week some time, I think I told you, didn't I?"  I didn't say very nice things after that.  My husband said he needed to go to town that day and would pick it up for me.

But he forgot.

Undaunted I sent my son with my car and a signed cheque on Friday and told him to pick it up for me.  He stayed in town after school and went to a party that night, coming home in the wee hours of the morning.  So Saturday when I got up I looked around the house for my new box, then in the back seat of my car, then in the trunk.  No box.  Well that was it for me.  I turned into a complete bitch, screamed and yelled at my husband when he woke up, lectured my son about how he was getting just like his father, how habits like these were formed at his age, and announced that I was going to town to get the damn thing myself, and maybe I'd buy a new shirt, and have a T-bone steak for lunch!  So, loaded down with a list of building materials to pick up, which I threatened to forget, I flew into town.

The pet store was closed.

Today I sent my son in again with my car.  When I returned home from work my new cat box was sitting in the entry way.  But it was not really new.  My son had left school with a friend, saying he was heading to the pet store to pick up my litter box, and his friend said heck, his cat had recently died and we might as well have his cat's old box, proving once again my theory that if you want something bad enough, long enough, and strong enough, it eventually finds its way into your life from a direction you least expect.