I’m fully aware that spending $650 on a self-cleaning litter box is ridiculous, especially when low-tech competitors (aka plastic boxes) cost $20. I’m not the sort of person who would’ve even entertained the thought (the economy and all) until James the cat entered my life. Now I’m glad I made the leap to Smarty Pear Leo’s Loo Too litter box.
Before James, it was just me and my calico BFF Cinnamon, and we were fine with traditional litter boxes. “Let them have their spinning motors and smartphone apps,” I’d grumble while scooping litter. Cleaning up after one cat is no big deal, but things change when a second or third feisty feline enters the mix. One day, in a lapse of sanity, I opened my home to a second cat, James, the aforementioned black-and-white terror.
(By the way, if you’re thinking, “Who names a cat James?” I certainly didn’t. It’s a long story, but the foster assured me that the second-most renowned cat psychic in the state had met one-on-one with James and he told her it was his preferred name, or telekinetically meowed it at her or something.)
Now James is a growing boy. He has literally doubled in size in just a few months, dwarfing poor Cinnamon. He eats like a racehorse and poops like one, too. I couldn’t keep up and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’d scoop the three household litter boxes (one for each cat plus an extra, Jackson-Galaxy style) seemingly every few hours, only to find more “presents” waiting for me a few minutes later. I couldn’t tell who was using which litter box (important because Cinnamon is susceptible to UTIs.) The house smelled; I was at my wit’s end.
So I went looking at so-called smart litter boxes. They all seemed similar feature-wise, but the Loo Too hooked me due to its pleasing design and companion app. The latter lets me know when a cat uses the litter box and distinguishes each feline by weight. I know exactly when Cinnamon uses it, sparing me the anxiety of wondering if she’s experiencing a UTI flare-up.
As for the litter box itself, it’s a reliable self-cleaning marvel. It’s pretty quiet and the waste drawer takes a month to fill up, after which it requires manual disposal. A whole month! I was scooping multiple times a day before I got this. The setup was simple enough and it ships fully built. Once I set it up and powered it on, it was only a few minutes before James (of course) did his dirty business. Cinnamon followed suit later that night.
Now it’s their preferred litter box and my remaining boxes are near-empty when I go to scoop. The Loo Too automatically separates litter from waste and waits a few minutes before engaging the motor, giving the cat some time to exit the vicinity. It not only cleans the litter, depositing waste in a detachable lower box, but it boasts fancy UV technology to clean itself. I’m no scientist and so I can’t speak to the efficacy of these UV rays, but I can say that this thing never, ever smells. The app lets you set the cleaning schedule and make a whole lot of other adjustments. It also integrates with Alexa and other assistants, but asking a speaker to clean poop seems beneath our AI overlords.
There are some downsides, of course. The power cord is cat-proof, but it’s also extremely short — only two or three feet. Most people put litter boxes out of the way, to mitigate odors and messes. I put the Loo Too in my room, but it was far from any outlet, so I had to buy an extension cord and electrical tape to run the cord around the closet, along the wall and finally to a surge protector. There’s also the matter of cost. This thing is $650, so it’s like the Apple Vision Pro of litter boxes. Even though I love it, that’s pretty steep. It’s worth it to me, though, because it saves me plenty of time and I get data regarding the bathroom habits of my precious mouse mutilators.