The smell of death

Cool, a little less rainy (40-ish)

Ah, the irony of writing about smells just a little while ago. Now I have the most wretched smell of all to report, and—cue the gloomy music—it’s in my own cabin.

When I walked in a few days ago, I noticed it smelled a little funny. I figured this had to do with being shut up and uninhabited for a few weeks, and let it go. But the smell persisted. It got much worse as I walked into the bathroom, where it almost knocked me over with its nastiness. I thought at first it might be sewer gas, but now I don’t think so. It’s not a particularly nauseating smell or anything; it doesn’t make me want to puke, but it does have a dull grossness to it, that seeps into every breath and kind of gets in my mouth and makes me worry. I’ve sleuthed a little to see if I can find it, and I’ve narrowed it down to the area between the water heater and the bathroom door, but I haven’t found anything.

I think it must be a dead rodent dispatched by the poison I put out for such furry villains before I left for the holidays. Yes, I know, that would make the smell my fault. I think it must have gone a little something like this: The rodent noticed I was gone. It let out a little squeak that sounded suspiciously like “Yippee!” and commenced running around the house. On its third lap it discovered a bar of tasty food, and ate a bit. Full up, it staggered over to the softest thing it could find—my bed—and made a little nest. After a nice night’s sleep, it felt a little funny, and decided to eat some more, whereupon it continued to feel funny, and crawled up into the new ceiling to die.

Whatever happened, I feel kind of bad, but also kind of pissed off, because now the smell wafts into my living room, and even woke me up last night with its power. I wish I could describe it to you, but I can’t get much beyond the fact that it’s just kind of gross, and pervasive. It gets worse the longer you smell it, and if you breathe with your mouth open, it gets on your tongue and makes you make icky faces.

Carlo and I put up some plastic in my bathroom today. Slanty is coming along nicely, and I can honestly say I feel comfortable in here tonight, sitting on the couch next to the fire, curled up in a blanket, especially if I hold up some tea to my nose whenever the smell of death wafts over.