Hell Hath No Fury Like A Litterbox

So...I've always been a churchgoing Christian girl. Consequently, I've heard many a sermon about hell. Not to brag, but the descriptions of hell in the Bible never scared me. Maybe it was because I just couldn't grasp it, maybe because I'd like to think I'm on a path to heaven...whatever the case, fire and brimstone threats just didn't work.

But after tonight, I think I've experienced hell. And the portal to hell is called Yesterday's News.

Let me explain. Our household recently adopted a male cat. We've had plenty of cats, but always female. Last week Gus went to the vet for The Surgeries --- losing the claws, losing the manhood, the whole package deal.

When cats are declawed, for the first couple of weeks after the surgery they have to use a special kind of litter which is essentially rolled up, compacted bits of newspaper --- hence the brand name Yesterday's News. Regular litter could get caught in their still healing wounds and get infected.

The down side to the paper stuff is that it does not clump and consequently does not have odor protection. So frequent scooping is a must.

"Not a problem," I thought initially. "A nuisance, but not a problem." Scooping up poop several times a day was not fun, but it was worth it to have a sweet, cuddly kitty whose hugs can no longer injure me.

But then he had to pee...

Cat pee is already one of the worst smells in the universe. But the pee of a neutered cat is infinitely worse because all the hormones running amok...or something...I'm not good explaining these things. The point is, it is a smell that makes you wish for death. Not kidding.

I notice it when I come home from work and try to scoop it out. No easy task since it doesn't clump. I sift through the litter box, periodically bringing scoop fulls up to my nose for a good whiff so I can identify the offending scoop. Still nothing. Eventually I find an area that looks more wet than others. I scoop it, toss it in a bag, throw the bag in the garage, and retreat to the shower, foolishly thinking my ordeal was over.

It wasn't.

The smell was still there, and it was getting stronger. So I enlisted the help of my brother to dump out the entire box of litter to try and purge the smell. Still there. I have him rinse it out while I sweep the floors. Still there. I run to the shower with the empty box in hand, dump what looks like half a bottle of liquid soap in there, and scrub, scrub, scrub. The showerhead is on full blast; the room is filling with steam from the ridiculously hot water; I am losing it.

"And lo, hell is place of cat pee, and where the sinner must suffer an endless torment cleaning the litter of the cats of Satan (who have just returned from the Styx veterinary clinic). And lo, the sinner wails, and weeps, and nashes the teeth, but it is to no avail."

Finally, it seems I may get some relief. But then I carry it back to my room (which I have aired out a little) and...

THE SMELL IS STILL THERE.

"It's still there! It's still there!" I start screaming. (Seriously, I was saying this out loud.) I start throwing out some laundry on the floor, sniffing the bed, wondering if he peed on it.

As I've typed this post, the smell has gotten better...though now my head hurts. I realize perhaps I was being a bit overdramatic...though maybe I'm not.

You know what the worst part is?

I know that as soon as the smell finally leaves, Gus will come...probably in the middle of the night...and pee in the fresh clean litterbox...and I will be in hell ALL. OVER. AGAIN.

So if there are any preachers or parents or what have you reading this who would like to scare kids into submission, skip the firey lakes and endless woe. Just tell them they'll have to spend eternity with an army of neutered cats. That'll scare the piss out of them guaranteed.

And oh yes, that pun was intended.