If you read my work regularly, you may recall that last week I wrote a column titled “Bushes,” about what I believed to be a dead cat decomposing in the bushes that surround my apartment building.
At the time the original column was published, I had not actually seen the cat, but I theorized that it was said animal because the stink it created was so similar to that of a dead cat I had met several years earlier; which, much like this one, possessed the smell of neglected meat, cabbage and pee.
Anyhow, this is the sequel to “Bushes,” and although I try to avoid covering the same topic twice; smelling a dead feline every morning has a nagging way of staying on one’s mind. So until it is removed from my living area, I doubt I will write about anything else; do not be surprised if my next column is titled “The Bushes Trilogy,” there is really no telling at this point in time.
Besides a skunk, a dead cat may be the worst lingering smell you will ever experience. Pick any major city in the United States and find that cities smelliest hobo; hand that hobo a tall, dirty glass full of spoiled milk then take a strong whiff of that hobo while he is holding that drink and you may not be too far from the smell of a dead cat in a bush maybe.
Consider my plight: no matter how peaceful a sleep I had, or eventful a dream the night before; the second I step foot outside, a scent reminiscent of raw sewage and old Asian food rushes in my nose, ruining what may have been a wonderful day.
Coincidentally, why are there so many cats stalking the campus of SHSU after dark anyhow? They remind me of the crows that loiter in the parking lot of Wal-Mart at night, just waiting to bite someone’s baby. As far as I’m concerned, crows and dead cats spawn from the same evil seed; the crows sent here to tear my eyes out and bite babies, while the dead cats take satisfaction in stinking up my life as much as possible
I am so ready for this thing to return to the earth from which it came.