Smelly Cat, Smelly Cat, What Did They Feed You?
I've got a dead cat in my trashcan. It freaking stinks.
Our trash went out Monday morning. The cat was "buried" Monday evening. It is 100 degrees here. Do the math, carry the one, and you've got stink.
I expect the cops to be here by Friday.
Death is not a good smell. It's one of the few scents that they don't make air-fresheners of. It smells like ass and nightmares. If you could convince Nick Nolte to eat a bulb of garlic, an ashtray and all of the socks from a boy's locker room, his breath would still smell like roses compared to the stench of the dead.
I think it's because living smells so good. We're scratch and sniff. Everything has it's own aroma, from pizza to armpits, and as such we relate to each accordingly. Death is not something that should be scratched, or sniffed, or poked with a stick when you find it sprawled across the roadway.
Yet, it happened, and now I have a dead cat in my trashcan. It freaking stinks.