Eggplant Caviar, Part 2
By this time, I have ascertained that whenever I move anywhere towards the sofa and the TV, the smell is stronger. Confirming this, and as if by mind-reading my Marco Polo imagery, the cats have moved cautiously into the entertainment area and have sat down near each other. They both stare intently at me.
“Will she find it?” they think, glancing at each other.
“How soon?” asks Racal perkily.
Let’s watch.” says Chaos, lying down languidly.
I march determinedly near the TV and spot a fly. No, not one fly, 4 flies. Noooo, 10 flies!! I run back to the mud room to breathe again.
“You see the flies?” I ask my husband.
“Oh, yeah there are flies in here. Didn’t see those before. I wonder where they are coming from. I didn’t leave any food in here, I swear I didn’t. I’ve cleaned up every day, made the bed and done the dishes too” he says.
“I believe you. Gotta be close to the TV. That’s where the smell is strongest” I say.
“What, the TV smells?!”
The cats have inched closer to the TV perchance for a better view of the action. Are they watching the game on the TV or the mad athleticism of their crazed human mother who seems to be developing a new relationship to the magical-picture-device?
Taking a flying, mad dash into the threat of nasal dementia, I scurry around the TV console scanning to see where the flies are coming from. Nothing clearly emerging from any holes in the back or underneath. I flap my hands and wave my arms around to try to flush out the flies but to no avail. I take a quick detour into the laundry room hoping-on-hope that it smells cleaner in there. Whew, it’s better here. I’m grateful for the chance to breathe and relieved that the dryer has not succumbed.
“Rascal! Chaos! Help!” I say figuring that their superior sense of smell will help me find the lurking menace. The cats walk in. I sniff behind the washing machine and in the crawl space under the counter where the construction has left a rodent sized opening.
“Hi, we’re here” they purr loudly from the other room, not moving.
“What did you want? How can we help?” asks Rascal who walks in and sits on the floor expectantly. Chaos leaps onto the washing machine and trots over to peer down into the open door of the dryer I’ve just finished examining.
“What are you doing in the laundry room?” says my better half, now sitting on the couch. “The washing machine and dryer worked fine yesterday. What did I do wrong?!” he adds, going up an octave.
I have no breath to answer any of my three housemates, as I’m already making a beeline toward the TV console focussing on how best to use the next few minutes without barfing. I flash my husband an “OK!” hand signal. The most flies are here, I gotta be close.
And then I see it…
There’s a rat in the console.
To be continued…
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Cover image by: Northern Lights Photography, 1982, "Susie pointing".
