My New Toilet Bowl Cleaner

Well, I did it. After vowing I wouldn’t, I bought a robot toilet bowl cleaner. It was several hundred dollars, but I don’t like cleaning the toilets. Neither does my wife, so we shrugged, and slapped down the plastic.

It kind of looks like a gray plastic daddy long-legs, with less legs. Called Rotoboc – Robot Toilet Bowl Cleaner – it weighs just five pounds, and it isn’t large. That didn’t alleviate my doubts about its skills, plus the cleaner bulbs cost fifty-five dollars for a package of twenty-five, shipping included. You can only buy them from the website at this point. Naturally, they come in scents. In a way, the bulbs remind me of modern home office printers; the printers are inexpensive, but those ink cartridges are expensive. It’s one of my pet peeves, so I felt it necessary to mention.

Using the Rotoboc – I call my Rooty — is easy.

  1. Lift the lid and seat. The Rotoboc sits right on the rim.
  2. Extend its five little legs to cover the bowl and set the Rotoboc on the rim. Don’t worry about centering it.
  3. Insert the cleaning/disinfectent bulb into the receptor.
  4. Fill the water tank with a pint of fresh water and insert into position.
  5. Select the mode. There are two: cleaning, and disinfecting. Disinfecting takes longer.
  6. Press On.

After Rooty comes to life with a few beeps and lights, it says, “Good morning,” in a female voice that reminds me of Glenn Close. Then it centers itself with a few hums.

So, from what the website tells me, the fresh water is used to inject the bulb and mix with the cleaner/disinfectant. First, it puts down a little spray head into the bowl, and sprays, while rotating, like a lawn sprinkler head. The sprinkler head withdraws.

Then it sits there counting for a while, five minutes, if it’s only cleaning, twenty, if it’s disinfecting. Next, brushes are extended down into the water like landing gear coming down on an aircraft. They go into the water, and then around the bowl and under the rim. While that’s happening, another small arm comes out and grabs the rim. Giving squirts as it goes, it begins rotating the Rotoboc along the rim, cleaning it while the brushes are at work below.

The whole device is quiet, emitting a gentle swishing sound when its working, with a white noise background hum. Green lights on top tell you its progress. Basically, there are five green lights. As a stage is completed, that light goes green. When all five lights are green, it’s finished. The Glenn Close like voice announces, “Done,” with a flourish of tinny trumpets.

If something goes wrong, a red light on top illuminates, three dongs are issued, and it says with a calm voice, “Error.” Then it gives its error number for your convenience. Nothing has gone wrong in the month we’ve been using it.

Afterward, you pick it up, fold Rooty’s little legs back in, and put it into its white case for the next time. The case has a recharger for the batteries, and is plugged into the wall. We store the case under the sink. Whoever built our house decided to put an outlet there, so we were good to go. I’d say that would be a problem for many people, though.

As I say, so far, its’ been a good investment. I can’t see hotels buying them, but they’re great for a household like ours. I predict a lot more will have them by the year’s end.

Hopefully, the bulb prices will start coming down, then.

I hear they’re coming out with one to clean the bathtub, too. I’m dubious, but I am thinking about it.

Purrosphere

Purrosphere (Catfinition): A global network connecting millions of computers dedicated to sharing information and images of cats. Sometimes arcanely referred to as the Internet.

Floofstep

Floofstep (Catfinition): A spontaneous and awkward dance to avoid a cat acting as a floofmat, floofstruction, or on an intercept course to make a demand, or beg for food or attention.

The Sound

He was in the bath room, fresh from the shower and reaching for a towel, when he heard the sound.

It sounded like a thump in the other room, like someone was in the house. Knowing he was home alone, he grew still and listened for it again. He’d left the windows open to bring in fresh, cold mountain air before the day became the oven in hell’s kitchen. Someone may have come through one of the windows.

The thump came again.

It was not from the other room, but from below.

He looked down, considering what he’d heard and where it emanated. For, it seemed like the sound had come from his abdomen.

Listening for it, he heard it again, like someone jumping on the floor, coming from his abdomen.

Was that normal? He’d never heard a noise like that from his body before.

He resumed drying. Growing old was a murky business. The more he aged, the less he knew his body, and the less he trusted it.

He never knew what it was going to do next.

The Nagging Fitbit

I’ve been going under during the last few days, consumed by smoke and heat. Hard hit with a sinus infection that induced impressions that my head and eyeballs were due to burst open with an alien presence, I had no energy and needed rest. Sleep, though, contemptuously dismissed my efforts.

My Fitbit, however, didn’t care.

The Fitbit doesn’t have an atom of empathy. Noticing that I was walking less on Friday, it said, “Come on, let’s step,” in its usual friendly manner that morning. By the late afternoon, its tone shifted to, “Are you going to move, you lazy slob?” On Saturday, it was asking, “Why do I bother to count? You’re not doing anything. Come on, get up.”

Instead of pestering me once every hour, it took to dinging me about every ten minutes. “Are you going to do anything today?” it asked with a sulking cadence.

“I told you, I’m not feeling well,” I answered it.

“So you’re not going to do anything.”

I popped Advil, and then gargled with warm salt water before answering. “I’m going to try to do something, just not right now. I’m having some tea first.”

“Malingerer,” it muttered back. “I want to go out.”

I put it on the cat. “There you go.”

“Hey,” the Fitbit said. The cat shook it off its paw with an angry, offended look. Neither of them were happy with me.

At three thirty that afternoon, I left the house to walk to a friend’s place to assist them with a computer problem. The weather was remarkably cool, and the smoke had dispersed enough to clearly see the Grizzly Peak across the valley. We experienced a temp spike while I was there. Coming home, it was much hotter, and I was much sweatier.

“Oh, you’ve at four miles,” my Fitbit said. “Why, you’re an Olympic athlete.”

There were no fireworks from the Fitbit that night. It settled into a sullen silence. Finally getting a few hours of sleep, I renewed my determination to reach my goals today. I noticed that the Fitbit hadn’t said anything.

“What’s the matter?” I asked it.

“I’m feeling a little under the weather,” it replied. “Do you mind if we just stay in today?”

Meownemy

Meownemy (Catfinition): A feline’s sworn nemesis, whose appearance immediately triggers a high (and noisy) state of alert. These relationships often defy logic, and are embedded in the murky world of felmotions.

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