It takes a special person to devote himself to the care of a cat. I say “special” because, for legal reasons, I like to avoid words like “psychotic.” Whatever might possess someone to pick a brooding, moody cat over an energetic, outgoing dog or a personable, smiley alligator is beyond my comprehension.

If cat people were sane, there wouldn’t be products like Cat Genie. According to the product’s Web site, Cat Genie is “the world’s only self-flushing, self-washing cat box.” Cat Genie hooks up to your toilet and an electrical outlet and uses washable pellets in place of kitty litter to dispose of what the site refers to as “liquids” and “solids.”

Unfortunately, the product does not always work in precisely this manner. According to a real user review on Amazon.com entitled “An expensive way to smell poo,” Cat Genie regularly malfunctions. “Your cats will thank you by depositing their love bundles beside the machine that’s half filled with water and beeping away forlornly if you happen to be away when it fails,” the reviewer writes.

Other users complained the rotating motion of the Cat Genie’s bowl would sometimes result in its contents escaping. Needless to say, it undercuts Cat Genie’s assertion that it simplifies cat hygiene when the thing fires cat doots across your home like an Olympic shot putter.

My point is not that cat people are nuts for wanting a product that takes care of their cat’s liquids and solids. They are nuts because, after the Cat Genie malfunctions, they get rid of the Cat Genie and keep their cats, who subsequently go back to their old system of pooping in boxes of sand that their owners must personally clean.

I spent a few days last year visiting my friends Dave and Katie, whose two cats produce an output of solids roughly equivalent to Ringling Brothers. Dave and Katie have had these cats long enough that they no longer notice the smell. But I noticed. Of course, because I was a guest in their home, it would have been impolite to point this out. The polite thing to do was wait four months, then publish the story in a newspaper using their real names. They can thank me later.

Dave and Katie are small potatoes compared to the world’s most famous cat owner, Pope Benedict XVI. I am not accusing His Holiness of being a crazy cat person; that would be unprofessional of me, in the sense that it is unprofessional to get beaten up by a mob of angry Catholics. All I will say is that, according to the London Daily Mail, the Pope does own a large number of porcelain cat figurines.

But he’s the Pope; it’s not like he’s personally bending over and sifting through a litter box. That’s what he has a team of Cardinals for.

The Pope has long been a lover of cats. In the years before he assumed the papacy, he took such good care of local strays that congregated around his apartment. This impresses me. I wouldn’t have put as much effort into homeless animals, though nobody expects me to act like a saint.

To capitalize on this passion, last week Ignatius Press released “Joseph and Chico,” an authorized biography of Benedict told from the point of view of his cat. (I swear this is true.) The book is nothing but propaganda aimed at children, bent on strengthening an evil, cult-like group’s grip on our society. I am talking, of course, about cats. “Joseph and Chico” could well influence the youth of the world to become cat people, the exact sort of evil the Catholic Church should be trying to avoid.

As a society, we need to stop the cat people. So whatever you do, don’t buy the book and give it to innocent children. The time to eradicate this menace is now. We’ll get started as soon as I neuter my alligator.

Scott is a second-year law student. He poops in a sandbox.