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Pet tech: Geeky gear for your dogs and cats (continued)
Litter Robot The life of a cat owner isn't all fun and games. Sometimes, it's downright crappy. Enter the Litter Robot. It's a motorized, self-cleaning litter box that resembles a prop from a '70s sci-fi flick. It immediately scores sizable geek points with me, simply because it looks like the kind of futuristic pet gadget one would own in the 21st century.
Here's how it works. Tigger climbs into the spherical Litter Robot and does his business. Tigger's body weight triggers the robot's sensor and seven minutes later, the sphere rotates slowly, sifting the clumping cat litter inside and dumping the waste into a garbage-bag lined drawer. Rather than prospecting for turds, Tigger's owner just changes the drawer liner and tops off the litter as needed. Yeah, it costs about $300 bucks. But it's freakin' awesome.
OUR RATING: 5 of 5

CatGenie self-cleaning litter box OK, I gave the preceding self-cleaning litter box a 5 rating, and this one gets a 1. What's with the double standard? Well, although the CatGenie is about $50 cheaper than the Litter Robot, it falls short on numerous counts.
For starters, it looks like a toilet, not like the Death Star. Also, it uses specially formulated granules in lieu of litter, which are liquefied and flushed down the drain. Cold water and sanitizer de-stink and disinfect the kitty toilet bowl, and a hot-air blower dries the granules for the next use. An impressive feat of engineering to be sure, but there's a lot of moving parts and fluids here. If the CatGenie breaks down, how much fun do you think it's going to be to service?
OUR RATING: 1 of 5

Editor's note on self-cleaning litter boxes [I bought one of these things, the LitterMaid, I think, about ten years ago or so for Sammy, my wonderful little kitty. Sadly, Sammy's not with us anymore, but before she died, she took on the LitterMaid.
Our first month was most interesting. The first few days, she was startled by the machine. It would growl and move and this frightened her. Then, she decided it was prey. For the next month, she camped out at the edge of the bathroom and simply stared at the machine, 24/7.
Eventually, she decided to try it out. I quickly learned that a self-cleaning litter box without a hood was worthless, because she'd do her business, then immediately fire the litter and the poop out of the box in literally every direction. Five minutes later, the box would go through its cleaning motions, but there wasn't much left to clean.
So I got the hood and attached it to the top of the box. This resulted in another cycle of Sammy getting to know the box and the expected distrust. She used it for a week and it really seemed like we had a solution. The poo stayed in the box, it scooped, and we were happy.
Then Sammy figured out that if she entered the hooded box and rotated around inside, she could face her derriere towards the opening of litter box cover, do her business, and fire the litter and poo out through the opening of the door. The first day she did that, she emerged from the box with a very self-satisfied look on her face. If you're a cat owner, you know that look.
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