Markus won’t take me seriously. We live in a 346-year-old mill at the base of Castle Frankenstein. We have a Nazi generator in the basement from WWII when “shoes” were made here. Who knows what kind of stuff happened.
Before we moved in, I cleansed the place with a smudge stick and a little spell. During construction, Markus and I did our best to infuse love and goodness in to the walls, floor and even marked it as ours (don’t ask). I didn’t want any old spirit to get confused. So, after two years, I guess we need a booster, a ghost booster.
Why do I think we have a ghost? Phantom farts.
At first we blamed each other. Now we have these pockets of stinky air when we’re alone, without cats or each other. I might lie to myself about the size of my ass or my keen knowledge of the esoteric, but it’s kinda useless to lie about flatulence.
Can it be the cats? Cleo maybe. She’s my familiar, a little older and she eats everything I eat. She demands bites (checking for poison). I can imagine stinky Cleo farts, but she’s usually in other places when the stink hits. Cleo’s job of holding down the furniture is all-consuming. If she doesn’t hold down the window seat or the bed, they might float away.
Then there’s my superhero ability. I can identify farts to their owners. I know, what a sucky power. I liken it to a superior sense of smell. And these spots of stink do not smell like any physical occupant of the house. They are much too vile and odoriferous for any of us, even after an Indian meal.
One of the reasons I have cats is that they are really good at notifying one of the supernatural. Cleo is especially good. When I was single, she used to hiss at my front door minutes before someone I did not want to see would show up. It was uncanny. Cleo has always been protective. And that apartment was haunted. Totally and unquestionably haunted. All my light switch covers would come unscrewed at the same time and cupboard doors would open and shut, but it was just an annoyance, not malevolent.
A few nights ago, I woke up twice to the smell. It was so bad it woke me up. I first thought it was bad breath. Markus’ or mine. Markus was turned away from me. The smell was so strong, it couldn’t have been from a Sparky turned towards the wall.
Cleo and the other cats weren’t even in the room. And that’s odd too. Usually Cleo sleeps on my pillow or between my legs. Fin was nowhere to be found either. Kiska might have been in the room, but it was dark and she’s black. She’s also the Helen Keller of cats and notices nothing.
I thought it might be MY breath. Can your own breath wake you up? IS there a way of breathing so that what you can’t normally smell in your breath suddenly becomes apparent? Could I wake myself up with my own bad breath? Is it like snoring?
The smell went away quickly, but woke me up just enough to register it was the same scent a few hours later.
What do I do when I wake up the next morning? I research it. I google bad smells and ghosts. And I totally and utterly freak myself out. I’m not even letting Sparky go to the gym today because I’m sure the ghost will show up now that I’m planning on barring him from the house.
Where is my ghost-sensing cat during all of this? Why does she not save me from my terror by indicating something is going on? Well, I have an answer to that too. She’s pretty bitter these days. With Fin the Flying Terror Machine chewing on her head and sleeping on her back, she might just let me suffer. Sometimes she just stands facing the corner by the front door and I freak out completely. I wish I had never seen that stupid Blair witch movie.
So today, I’m house cleaning. I’ll use my smudge stick and ban negativity from the house. The only problem is when I do my front door. I have to stand in the doorway with a burning bush. I’m sure my Catholic neighbors will be thrilled with the scent of sage wafting throughout the stairwell. I’ll just explain the situation. I’m sure it will make them all feel much better.