Today was rainy, and I spent the afternoon sleeping with Tiger curled up beside me on the comforter. This is when I noticed that he has a somewhat fishy smell about him. It's not overbearing or entirely unpleasant, but it is noticeable. Maybe it's the cheap dry food I've been feeding him.
Rainy days bring out the smells of things more than other sorts of days. There's the lumps of dog crap on the front yard that the tenant never cleans up, the diaper bucket of my housemate's kid; there's the soybean factory down the street, the mold and fungi of the basement crypt, and there's my housemate's makeshift compost pile behind the decomposing shed in the back yard. All of these things combine to form a veritable potpourri of scent.
Last night the Slug of the Apocalypse was crawling toward the doorstep again. I keep returning the creature to the garden, but it keeps coming back and back, like a poltergeist. All these things must mean something, though I'm not sure what. Actually, the message is clear: time to move on.