I went into my office, which adjoins the laundry room, wherein lives The Dread Cat Box, and I could SMELL the presence of the Dread Cat Box. Like, entering one room of my house, I knew a cat box existed in another. This is WRONGFUL.
I called Sam to come clean it out.
Parenthetical: Boggart the cat is SAM’S cat because everyone else hates him, and he hates everyone else. He quite likes Sam and is a useful pet and friend to him, which is THE ONLY REASON he is allowed a small portion of my home’s oxygen.
Parenthetical 2: I have TRIED to love him, but he responds to my overtures with SUCH disdain that I end up wanting to bake him and then feed him to criminals; I don’t want to kill an animal I would not eat, but I would not inflict his meat on the kindly or the virtuous.
I tried calling him Wapples to make him nice but I can’t bring myself to stick with it. The cat is a full-on misogynist. He is sour and slippery and mists away from female hands looking affronted, but doesn’t mind most men. When he does allow me to touch him with my frightful LADY GIRL HANDS EW, I find he has a gorge belly that always feels weirdly hard and impacted, as if he is intrinsically SPONGY.
Also he LOLLS ABOUT with SUCH smugness, like Caligula post-orgy, greasy and rank, oozing hair and SAUCY CHAIR OWNERSHIP. He often appears to be growing out of whatever surface he is currently infecting. I am not the only one who thinks this. Sam, his champion and only friend, has started calling him The Fungus. He LOOKS like a fungus, burbling his superior mew sounds out of his belly-gorge-hole. We call him The Fungus more than we call him Boggart now.
Anyway. I smelled cat box, and I called Sam to come fix it.
Sam was affronted, and invited me to inspect. The litter box was PRISTINE.
Long story short, I kept smelling phantom cat poos all over the house, in one room, then another. My office lost the smell, the living room found it. The smell wafted into the keeping room, then poofed, only to manifest again in Sam’s bedroom.
It finally occurred to me that I was smelling the smell in WHATEVER ROOM THE CAT WAS IN. GAH.
I gave him a visual onceover and he was clean. So. I started smelling him. That’s where it got weird.
The smell was coming FROM THE TOP OF HIS HEAD. Beloveds, I must tell you, this was not the place I suspected of producing the smell. Ahem. I picked him up and dragged him to Scott.
Me: Smell his head!
Scott: Excuse me?
Me: SMELL THIS CAT’S HEAD, THIS IS SUPER WEIRD.
Scott: *sniff* ARRRG AH! WHY? UGH! He has a poo head!
Me: I know, right? Now smell his back end.
Scott: *crickets and a look that said, eloquently, that he would SEE ME IN HELL before he would smell the cat’s back end*
Me: Not the back of the back end. I mean, we know THAT can’t possibly smell like a meadow. Why test the known? Smell him here, on his spine. Smell the middle, even. Smell the middle of his spine.
Scott: *sniff* *shrug* Smells like a regular cat spine.
AND IT DID! The poo smell was JUST on his head, yet his head looked CLEAN. Like, he didn’t have any visible smudges or grains or ANYTHING tangible on his head.
Warning, impending understatement: He did not like this.
And so the mystery remains. How did his head come to smell like poo (like CAT poo specifically) and yet have NO poo on it, especially when his spine, belly, chest and feet all smelled like FURRY NOTHING.
Warning, Impending Understatement 2: He doesn’t care to be smelled.
Right now my theory is that he was plotting such dark evil in his brain the SMELL of those thoughts drifted out of his ears and rose onto the top his head and stuck there, and tonight I will be murdered in my bed as those thoughts come to fruition.
If you have a better theory, especially one that involves me not being killed, I am ALL OVER IT. Want to play Poolock Holmes? As a bonus, I offer a most valuable prize: EVEN IF YOU COME UP WITH THE BEST EXPLANATION, I promise not to mail you the cat.