A Rose By Any Other Name...

"What is that f*cking smell!?"

That same phrase was uttered about a hundred times in two days.

We expected a bit of ripeness in the one bedroom apartment, partly because there were ten people sleeping in it, but mostly because when we weren't sleeping, we were on Bourbon Street in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. As anyone can tell you, you don't walk in the drainage ditch because the mud isn't made of only water...

Our shoes were outside for a second day, and the apartment was smelling worse and worse. Jill had cleaned out the alligator cage, (yes, you read that correctly), so our choices seemed limited to the kitchen and bathroom. It was so rancid that it had to be biological.

Finally, using my keen sense of smell, I traced it to the fireplace. That seemed to be an odd place for it. I pulled away the suitcase (no better place for it), and saw a lovely cat turd emanating it's fragrance for all to enjoy.

When we took the picture, the cat licked it's paw.