So last night, one of my cats did as cats do, and entered her litterbox. This is, obviously, not abnormal, so when I went to the basement to play some Dota, my body was not prepared.
Even knowing, nothing could have prepared me.
In all honesty, what I thought had happened was that the larger of my two dogs had to have pooped in a vent, and the air flow somehow directed this cloud of pure death directly into my nostrils. Even this theory paled in comparison to my initial instinct, believing that a herd of no less than 30 cattle had somehow come into my basement, pooped there, and then magically disappeared. The smell was so dense, entering the basement felt like passing through a physical barrier.
I am certain that my overall lifespan was shortened by the event.
I am certain my cat’s lifespan was shortened by the event.
I believe that the lifespan of my house, or rather, the integrity of its load bearing pillars, has been reduced.
I believe that, had my house collapsed, the resulting crater would have been declared uninhabitable by the CDC.
Yesterday morning, had you asked me if a smell could be fatal, I would have said no. Yesterday night, there was a dead spider by my cat’s box, and I know what killed it.
The fires of hell are fueled by that smell. The burning is only secondary torture, and the fires burn only because Satan himself could no longer survive that smell.
When I smelled it, I had a memory flashback to a previous life, and I peed on a rag and put it up to my nose — it had no effect.
Every skunk within 10km of my house decided to never spray again, for they could only be ashamed of themselves.
Cruel people have said that the tears of the dying are delicious, but my tears were saturated with that smell. Had anyone tasted them, they would join me in living death.
Laundry was in the washing machine, still wet. It burst into flames, spontaneously. I was not angry, for those clothes could never be worn again anyway.
It is said that we currently have a wasp problem in the Edmonton area. That would explain the tiny screams I heard, coming from the damned. I no longer fear the wasps, for the speedy have have fled, the slow dying off.
I am glad raspberry season has passed, for bees can no longer pollinate any plant life in my yard.
Nothing will ever grow again, but it is for the best. I did not think plants could become demons, but a new fear has been awakened in me.
It didn’t smell nice is what I am trying to say here.