Scent from The Aged?

There’s a haunting aroma in the apartment. Something slightly sweet, slightly pungent. Reminiscent of pine, but not pine.

What could it be? I walk about the apartment, sniffing here, — “Nothing here.” — sniffing there, — “Nothing there.” — all the time wondering, “Where’s it coming from? What could it be? Smells like — like cat pee!”

Impossible! The Aged’s been gone nearly 2 months now!

Or is it? During his last month, The Aged Cat had an accident or two in the living room. An accident or two that I know of. Ever a tidy fellow, he was terribly embarrassed about them, but they weren’t his fault. He was very old, and his kidneys were failing him. Reminding him of that he was “only feline,” and an ailing one at that, and assuring him he needn’t worry about the mishaps, I cleaned them up immediately.

Still, it has been raining an awful lot in the MidAtlantic. April Showers came at last and have done themselves proud. What has that to do with the mystery smell?

The apartment, an example of old and cheaply constructed postwar housing — (post WWII, that is) — keenly feels the damp. It soaks up and traps in moisture as thoroughly as a disposable diaper. On days like this, after I first moved in, the place bore a reeking resemblance to an ashtray. Several years of cooking, and about 40 fragrant candles later, that’s no longer a problem. But now there’s this new smell, the pungent one I mentioned above. I think to myself, “Uh-oh, there must’ve been an Aged accident I did not know about. The damp has found it!”

Walk a little. Sniff a little. “Nope.” Walk a little. Sniff a little. “Nope.” All around the apartment, thus I go.

Out of a sense of fairness to The Aged, I even sniff myself. After all, how often has a pet been wrongly blamed for something — a missing sock? a spill? the disappearance of a bagel or a chicken wing? — and another pet or even a human turns out to be the culprit? Maybe it’s my new herbal soap? Maybe (say it ain’t so!), maybe I had an accident? After all, I’m “only human” and gettin’ on in years.

Sniff, sniff. “Nope.” . . . Well, that’s a relief!

After two days of intermittent walking and sniffing, my pee-patrol proves inconclusive, and — alas for The Aged Cat (may he rest in peace) — undetected aged Aged Cat pee remains the prime suspect. But where on earth could the Aged have . . .?

Back at work in my chair at blogging central, I pause and look aimlessly about me, as I tend to do when I am . . . well, pausing. My eye lights upon a dark green candle nestled in the corner of the bookcase. “Aha!” I pick it up, whip off the lid, — sniff, sniff — “Nope. That ain’t it either.”

Then another light bulb goes on. Right behind my desk chair is my sorta new cedar chest, which arrived last summer at the height of the drought, and is now experiencing it’s first mini-monsoon. . . . sniff sniff sniff–

“Bingo!” Aged Cat exonerated.

Oh Aged Cat! I never doubted you for a moment. Your kidneys, perhaps. But you, never!