What if I were to invent a better litterbox?

What if, say, I were to finally figure out the thing I’ve been continually trying to figure out, which is a way to thoroughly evacuate the stench from the waste left behind by my incredibly dainty and charming cats, one of whom is currently shoving his cold nose against my left hand as I try to type this entry?

Then, say, once I had invented this better litterbox, which theoretically would involve an air-recycling system related to that which is commonly used by woodworkers to control airborne sawdust, what with the chutes and vents and collection hoods and so forth, let us imagine that the world did indeed beat a path to my door.

Then what?

Shall I devote the remainder of my days here on this oscillating orb to purveying this Idealized Pooptray to an eager and grateful public? Is that, then, automatically, My Thing, as in “You do your thing and I do mine. I was not put here in this world to satisfy your expectations, and nor were you put here to satisfy mine. You are you and I am I, and if, by chance, we find each other, it’s beautiful. If not, it can’t be helped.”*?

Say this litterbox is gobbled up [yick] by this eager and grateful public. I wouldn’t have much choice, would I, then, but to go into the Better Litterbox business and just pretty much go with that from here on out?

I’m sure that would be fine. Profitable, probably, and interesting, most likely, and basically helpful – fabricating litterboxes as your life’s work isn’t necessarily the sort of thing you bring up on the first date, but neither is it anything you’d be ashamed to tell your mother. I could do that.

*Fritz Perls, Gestalt Prayer