A Sniff In Time

                From the sight and smell of things, Orie has developed more idiosyncratic habits than just standing in his water dish.

                I know this to be a fact because I just scooped his litter box, a simple task I have put off for several days.

                Normally, after such a period of neglect, I pay for my procrastination and deal with significant remains of the days.  Today my job was quick and easy—too easy to bode well.  And here I was hoping that I was merely imagining that the hallway carpet stains were growing.

                It’s hard for me to zero in to a single smelly source for my nose woes because of the numerous possibilities for offense (as in odors, I mean).  My keen olfactory sense is the bane of my existence.  I try awfully hard to breathe in the atmosphere of denial since I lack the physical energy to disinfect the environment.

                But with my bedroom door open (the litter box sits at the end of the hallway right next to it, a most unfortunate location) I can no longer deny the acrid edge that clings to the back of my throat and burns my nostrils.  And, by the way, relocating the litter box does not solve the problem—it just increases the ring around the hallway.

                I am quite sure that the only lasting solution involves ripping up carpet and, perhaps, subflooring.  While I would much prefer a wood laminate to match the living room and kitchen, I dread the cost and mess and inconvenience of having the work done.   Besides, my pocketbook tells me not to cough up so much money until I’m ready to gag.