So, my Daddy (now 78, and STILL a good ol' Texas country boy), has had for years a wealth of sayings my friends from places other than Texas consider rather . . . well, let's just say"Colorful" . . . and leave it at that for now.
I can remember him saying, as we were growing up, when someone would leave the bathroom with a rather noxious odor, "Smells like something done crawled up inside you, died and is rottenin'!". Yes, you get the idea, colorful, and well . . . evocative. Somehow, until this morning, I just thought that saying was funny, somewhat disgusting, and just another Texas truism, but didn't really relate to it on a personal level . . . even having spent almost 25 years in nursing.
Well, I came in this morning and sat down at the computer to catch up. And thought to myself "What IS that smell?". Diana, my kitty sitter, is usually religious about scooping the litter boxes when I'm gone, but I thought maybe she missed the three boxes in the office. I took a gander at them . . . hmmm, LOOK like they were scooped last night, but maybe the litter has reached that point where no amout of scooping is going to fix things. OK, I'll change out boxes. So I did, and the . . . ur . . . ummm . . . 'aroma' was better for about 10 minutes. Aahhhh! SO much better!
Ten minutes later, and the 'death miasma' is back. What the hell?!?!? It's pleasant outside, so I have the windows open. Maybe it's actually coming in from the back yard? Something crawled over the fence and died in our back yard. THAT must be it.
I put on my shoes and dutifully walk the back yard, scoping it out for the rotten animal carcus I was SURE was going to be there. Nope, nothing but the sun shining, birds chirping, and CLEAN air. OK . . . maybe it's just in my nasal passages, and I'm imagining it. I go back to the desk, and start sorting and pricing the shipment of beads that arrived over the weekend.
WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT SMELL????????? Oh, my LORD!
I turn over the overstuffed chair and ottoman in the office - nope, no dead bodies there. Maybe Steve's rat died? Nope, Hershey is cheerfully crunching Cheerios in her cage on his computer hutch. I go count kitty heads again (I was pretty sure I'd seen them all when I got home last night, but thought I should double check . . . I mean, this is a DEATH smell). All accounted for.
I sit back down at the desk again. And notice the circular 'buttprint' of nastiness now adorning my page of inventory. What the hell? Angel jumps up on the desk. It was like a wall of dead water buffalo shit fell over on my head and crushed itself up my nose. (I've never actually smelled dead water buffalo shit, nor seen a wall built of it, but this is what I imagine it would smell like - the rancid bottom of a pond where no new water has appeared since the dinosaurs walked the earth, along with the usual eau de stink of large mammel crap.)
I grab Angel (who, by the way, is an extraordinarily furry Birman) and look at her more closely. Her whole backside is a mass of matted poop . . . apparently one little turd stuck at some point, and the rest have been clinging on to that one for dear life.
OMG - Off to the sprayer we go. Twenty minutes later, the cat is REALLY pissed off at me, I'm soaked, and my nose is finally happy.
Well, lessons learned. It may have taken me almost 48 years to figure out what Daddy meant, but by God, I got it now. Apparently, he met Angel in a previous life . . .