That was the slogan for the original Kitty Litter, if I remember correctly. I found myself repeating it like a mantra each day for sixteen days recently, as I carefully shoveled feline doo doo with a slotted spoon into a plastic bag. This was then followed by placing the material into a second plastic bag, in case the first one broke, followed by dropping everything into a heavy duty third plastic bag, for ultimate disposal into the outdoor garbage can.
I like to think I took my stint as a cat sitter for someone who was on a cruise in New Zealand very seriously. In a Zen and the Art of Shoveling Poop kind of way.
As my readers may have noticed from a comment I made in the previously entry, I was fascinated to discover that there have been significant advances in cat litter technology since the eyewatering, ammonia filled days of my earlier pets.
After the urine was transformed into the intriguing little petrified thingys which may some day show up on eBay as objets d'art, I could remove them without fear of nostril annihilation. This was followed by the adminstration of a white powdered deodorizer over the top of the cleaned up litter, yet another innovation, which I stirred into the pan, not unlike a Duncan Hines brownie mix, it seemed to me. Afterward, in a final burst of smell control, I would spray a load of scented Lysol around the area as a finishing touch.
The experience was enough to remind me why I no longer want to have pets, as much as I love animals. Yes, the EEEWWWW factor has been reduced by a multiple of seventy-five. However, you still have to do it.