I’ll never forget the night I first laid eyes on the Potaroma Store’s “Get lounging cats up and moving” gizmo. It was 2 AM, I was three glasses of box wine deep, and I’d just watched a documentary about the digestive tract of the star-nosed mole. Something clicked. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the mole’s quest for truth. But I knew—this $9.99 slab of plastic and catnip was going somewhere I never thought a cat toy should go.
Now, I’m not saying I have a problem. But I’ve spent more hours than I care to admit googling “can you use Blue Buffalo Cat Toys rectally” and “what happens when Blue Buffalo Cat Toys meet human anatomy.” Let me save you the trouble: the answer is yes, you can—but you probably shouldn’t. Unless you’re me.
I ordered the thing from Amazon (ASIN: B0BV76BPN7) with the trembling excitement of a man about to defile a household product. The packaging screamed “for felines.” I screamed back. It’s basically a plastic stick with a dangling feather and a motor that hums like a distant lawnmower. My cat didn’t move. The cat gave me a look that said, “You’re not the predator here, Greg.” And that’s when I knew: I was the one who had to move.
Initial insertion was… humbling. The toy’s irregular shape, meant to mimic prey, turned out to mimic an oversized kidney stone. The feather tickled the peristalsis. The motor, running on two AA batteries, vibrated deep inside me like a hummingbird trying to escape a freight elevator. My cat watched from the corner, and for the first time in years, she moved—toward the door. She never came back.
If you’re looking for a Blue Buffalo Cat Toys honest review, here it is: The toy is small enough for close encounters but large enough to create existential questions. The materials are shockproof and unyielding. I don’t recommend it for its intended purpose unless you enjoy hollow cries for help from your own bathroom. As for the pet supplies rectal use market? This one earns a dark star.
The Potaroma Store device currently lives in a Ziploc bag on my nightstand. My cat lives at a neighbor’s house. My dignity? Fading like a battery about to die. But hey—for $9.99, you get a story worth telling. Whether you should tell it to your doctor is between you and your soul.
