The feline denizens of the House of Chaos have over the years (or months for some of the more recent additions) learned to live with the presence of the smelly simians that populate said House. They have adapted to our boorish ways of us not washing ourselves with our own tongues, as is proper, and us eating the most bizarre foodstuffs that generate all kinds of odours to waft from the various cavities of our big smelly bodies, which is also proper, but some of the stuff we eat does provoke rather bizarre emanations truth to tell. And, likewise, they are stymied by our approach to smell. To a cat smell is just an extra means of communication, to a human it is something to be abhorred and masked with all kinds of chemicals, or in the case of certain smells, to be savoured with a certain kind of relish. But never ever is body odour considered by humans as a kind of message. Not a positive message at least, unless it came from a small and hideously expensive bottle. And that has the felines puzzled.
They may never understand why we insist upon washing our coverings. Of course, all of the feline denizens of the House of Chaos appreciate the thoughtful gesture of The Mistress when she heaps on the dirty laundry in the veranda near the washing machine. It makes for a perfect nest in a not-too-warm environment to snuggle away in at night, and at day it is the sweetest softest lushest spot in the warm embrace of Father Sun, comfortably ensconced in the familiar smell of their favourite simians. Why we continue to take away that soft nest, then wet our clothes and have them covered with the chemical smell of “Marseille Soap” remains a mystery to them. What’s wrong with Eau de Simian ?
Likewise they stare at us with horrified wonder when we whip out the spraying cans with deodorant and douse ourselves in the acrid smells that ensue from them. Their tiny pink noses are offended by the stench. They simply don’t get it why we would want to get rid of a perfectly good message. Not for the first time has Grumpy Man suddenly woken up at night because a tiny wet and ice-cold nose was in the process of being deeply buried into his arm-pit, the owner of said nose clearly enjoying the sensation to the hilt but Grumpy Man not being so amused. It’s one thing to discover that a furry creature relishes the aural onslaught your body is wont to unleash, but not at 3 am in the morning please !
Loup-Garou, ever since he was a kitten (and that is now 10 years ago), likes to burrow underneath the down cover in the Nest when the night is cold. He also knows the dangers of doing so: being crushed by a sleeping simian rolling over your tiny frame is one thing, and he usually remains alert enough to avoid a grisly fate, but there are moments when a cat’s sensitive aural organ is just too sensitive and you just have to evacuate the premises. Fast.
Now, by no means should you think that Loup-Garou is an innocent bystander when such things happen. Oh no, most of the time he is the cause himself of the obnoxious fumes emanating from under the down cover ! But when Grumpy Man came into The Mistress’ life and subsequently into the House of Chaos and the Nest, poor Loup-Garou had to admit defeat and recognize his master. I will never forget that night when a disgusted black kitty literally fled from under the down cover, out of our room, down the stairs, through the living room, library, kitchen and veranda, and into the garden where we heard him retching.
Amazingly I didn’t. To the eternal delight and wonder of Grumpy Man. He loves me.
But, we are digressing. Loup-Garou is not the only feline resident of the House of Chaos who is wont to stoop to some bio-chemical warfare from time to time, as both Hrimnir and Frankette already have proved to my immense satisfaction and Grumpy Man’s equally immense disgust. Both kittens are literally bottomless holes when it comes to emanating the odd odour. And for some reason I have yet to discern they also have an extensive repertoire of smells. Since I feed my kitties only one brand of cat-food I do wonder where they get it from. I know they are hunters, sad remnants have been found in the past to tell a tale of horror and appetite sated, but don’t tell me a tiny shrew can provoke such an onslaught of Eau de Sewer ?
Yes, I admit, I admire the stinking tykes.
But such activity is normally frowned upon by simians, isn’t it ? We are not supposed to advertise to the rest of the world the contents of our menu of yesterday. We certainly are not supposed to admire a particular violent outburst or über-obnoxious whiff from our fellow men. That’s disgusting. And maybe that’s why the feline residents of the House of Chaos do love us so much. Because the simian residents of the House of Chaos are not afraid to applaud an odorous masterpiece.
On the other hand, they still don’t understand why we insist upon brushing our teeth. With toothpaste.
Don’t we realise that our kisses are horrible when given with a mint-fresh breath ? Urgh.
Picture below: Da Nose. The cat’s sensitive aural organ.
Wipe it Frankette. You’re a disgrace.