Tonight, one of the boys at AWANA left his jacket behind, so I brought it home so I could return it to him next week. I draped it over a bag on one side of my bedroom.
Two minutes ago, one of the cats wandered in and sniffed it. She craned her neck forward, smelling deeply. She continued to sniff, all along the collar and along one side. She reared up on her back legs and put two paws on the jacket, sniffing and sniffing with the expression of a wine connossieur swishing a mouthful of a $500 wine in his mouth.
I wonder how many streams she smelled, how many peanut butter sandwiches, how many trails in the woods, how many schoolrooms and candy bars and books.
|Brennen||When we got back from New Zealand last spring, we stayed in an apartment with cats. They went nuts over our bags, especially the one Elizabeth hadn’t washed since India.
I occasionally think humans are deprived in the relative weakness of our sensory array, especially scent and hearing. Then again, maybe it was a tradeoff in terms of brain
|Brennen||(The bag, that is. Not the cat. Washed since India.)|