Bad Kitty! (Litter)
My local waste management men, good people who come to take the bags of leftovers and unwanted things from my house on a weekly basis, arrived earlier than expected this Tuesday, causing me to run out with a kitchen bag in one hand and box of half-eaten pie in the other. They love this kind of interaction, and so do I. I get to throw my trash into the massive truck, pretending, if just for a moment, to be one of their number. Meanwhile, they get to pull out a bag of spent cat litter from my garbage barrel in dramatic fashion and inform me that “we can’t take this.”
Huh? This is Boston, where they toss your neighbor’s threadbare sofa into the truck right along with the 1950s fridge you set out by the street. Need to trash an old washing machine? Put it by the curb. Oh, sure, some things require special pickup, but unless it’s an unexploded WWII munition, the city will eventually come and get it.
But not cat poo-poo and the little pellets into which the turdlets are laid to rest. “The chemicals set off the alarms at the dump.”
I see. Needless to say, I felt compelled to check with the city on this little-known ordinance, given that several hundred thousand other residents of Boston were likely putting their kitty pee-pee clumps in the trash as I was.
A quick call confirmed my suspicion that my friendly waste managers didn’t have all the facts: “Put it back out there. The inspector says they’ll come back to collect it.”
Of course they will. And while they’re at it, I have an oven I’d like them to take.