I've spilled an awful lot of oil on the concrete garage floor over the years and regular kitty litter, the type made out of bentonite clay, works well. Let it soak it up, sweep aside the damp and Grind some fresh dry in by doing the twist on it with old shoes on. Or a block of wood or anything... hard to beat the under foot pressure though.

They sell bags of it in autoparts stores but usually kitty litter is cheaper... Walmart huge bags.

I would follow that up with some Lestoil...wish I had stock in that stuff!

I've figured that the bags in the auto supply store are often cheaper per pound than the kitty litter ... but you wouldn't need a large quantity, and would have a lot left over ...

... maybe pack in plastic bags and sell to friends as "Rosaearthy's Kitty Litter"?

You could even pack an instruction sheet, explaining in detail how to use it.

With some extra instruction to the cats, e.g. "Please take care not to scratch too hard ... hard enough to scratch some of the litter out on to the floor".

Heck ... if you could make the instruction sheet fun enough ... you might even develop a small business, with more and more of the neighbours coming to get a pack for their favourite cat.

And when did you last see the neighbours getting a laugh out of reading the instructions from a bag of kitty litter?

Just imagine ...

... when the kitties have another litter ...

... soon they'll need a lot more litter!

ole joyful

I know I'm a little late to this party, but I can't help myself:

When my brother and I were 2 and 3, we tipped over the gallon can of olive oil in the pantry and amused ourselves until half the can had poured out through the tiny holes our dad had poked in the corners with an icepick...(remember those days?) Olive oil everywhere, slippery as could be. What fun!

The oil seeped through the wooden floor boards through to the ceiling of the apartment below. As long as we lived there (another ten years or so) every time the floor got wet it smelled of old olive oil. The oiled parts of the wood got darker and darker, and no matter how much paint the landlord applied to the ceiling below, the stain remained.

We are 60 and 61 now, Mom is 85. She reminds us of that day every time she thinks of olive oil, and how she didn't know what to do first - laugh, cry, curse herself for her momentary lapse, or clean up the floor or the kids.

I bet the place still stinks.