The nose has it

About a week ago I began to notice an unpleasant smell in my house. Since the smell seemed to be concentrated in the kitchen, I initially thought it might be something that hadn't been quite thoroughly chewed up and disposed of in my garbage disposal. However, an investigation with my bare fingers – accompanied by a 'yuchhh' expression on my face – disproved that theory. I moved the micro-wave out of its spot in the corner of the kitchen counter, to make sure no old food had crawled back there to die.

It finally occurred to me that the smell might be emanating from a Rotting Rodent in my attic. Following the discovery that a hole in my outside wall was serving as the front entrance for animals unknown (some said squirrels, some said raccoons – see Note of April 25, 2009) my landlord sent out first, his handyman, to board up the hole, and when I was still hearing sounds above my head, an exterminator, to deal the final blow. And, happily, the sound of animals lurching around over my head in wingtips ceased.

But what if some (poor little) wild thing had either got trapped inside, when the hole was boarded over, or partaken of some tasty poisonous snacks, and ultimately succumbed to either hunger, or sated hunger?

Now, if I'd been thinking carefully I would have realized that a month to six weeks was a bit long for a decomposing body to wait before it started smelling. But this really was the only thing I could think of. So I broke out the rarely-used incense – which only helped while it was burning – and told myself the smell would pass, and it was certainly better than unwanted visitors.

Well, the other day I had the brilliant idea of placing the container of coffee – which was filling the cabinet with its own strong aroma, even though I'd placed the container inside a plastic bag – placing that container out on the counter, where the offensive smell seemed to be strongest. I would use Peter to kill Paul. In the process of doing this I had to move a few things out of the way: my various bottles of pills, my water glass, the bulb of garlic.

The Bulb of Garlic. Which had been sitting there for who knows how long. From which I had detached a couple of cloves for cooking purposes, and not used since. As I gingerly picked it up it felt somewhat squishy beneath my fingers, and the slightest whiff told me I'd found my Rotting Rodent. Into the plastic bag in my freezer where go food scraps that do not go down the garbage disposal (bones and the like) it went. Presto magico, no more unpleasant smell.

I had to laugh at myself. The girl who can't tell rotting garlic from rotting squirrel.