So there’s a moment when I feel there is no way that weird sh!t could get any weirder. Waiting with the sword of Damocles balanced over my head every day for a few weeks can make me go into that whatever zone that is a whole different type of living than the norm.

Get to the point. I do laundry every day. I do it my way. I wash a couple of loads in the afternoon. I can not get up before noon each day. Well physically I can but mentally it takes me a few hours to attain consciousness. So I hang the wash out, which I hate but it means the clothes don’t get fried. There’s actual studies on clothes hung outside and their cleanliness compared to dryer dried clothes. Ultraviolet light, the wind blowing through the fabric and some other elements which makes it look like a shampoo commercial in my head, benefit clothes while dryer drying ages clothes and breaks them down faster. Also the clothes tend to smell fresh and not like a french whore rubbed her @ss with them. I like the clothes drying on the line.

Enter my father’s ghost. He dwells in the basement now. I better not p!ss him off or he may come upstairs. Anyway while he was alive he used to have this foul habit of pissing in my Mother’s garden. You know, the nitrogens benefitted the plants and all that. My father was a large man. A large man with no shame. He wore a straw hat with a pair of cr@ppy trousers held up by rainbow striped suspenders that didn’t successfully hold his pants up. He’d have a holey Wonderfood Warehouse t-shirt that was so decrepit that it was almost transparent. When he bent over in the garden ad my brother was around he’d yell, “Say NO! to crack!”

When the slow moving Dementia over took him he began to do things.

One of these things was he’d go to the back door of the house (which technically was the front door and faced 2 houses behind us,) open the door and piss c0ck to the wind. Then he started to piss into the hedges next to the door which gave the neighbors the side view of his business. Over time a yellow circle developed in the middle of the hedge. Mom didn’t know what was going on with the bush. After discovering dad leaking the lizard one day after lunch, I told her what he’d been doing. She was so angry. The urine was burning the needles in the hedge.

The past three days I’ve smelled a familiar musty acrid smell. I clean the cat box since Mom’s immune system is low lately. An angry cat is literally a p!ssed cat and they can do some damage to wood, fabric heck any type of floor. I got this gallon jug of cleaning fluid that takes care of many types of fauna effluvia. It has it’s own spray bottle.

Our washing and drying machines are hiked up on wooden pallets in the basement. That’s the kind of thing you have to do when you live near the beach or any kind of large body of water. We also have a sump pump as I think I’ve mentioned before. Our basement becomes filled with water sometimes when the water table raises or too much rain comes or in a hurricane or the snow melts too fast. I have had to be a part of too many water bucket brigades and run water out of the basement. You don’t want the electrical cord that powers the sump pump to touch the liquid. You also don’t want the washing or drying machine’s cord to lay on the floor either, hence the pallets.

Every day this smell has gotten stronger. I thought maybe something died behind the pallets. But the smell is a distinct ammonia smell. Yes, it could be that the cats are coming down into the cellar. But how are they getting under the pallets? They are far too low for the cats to fit. Maybe it’s Dantalion, I don’t know. I’m freaking myself out now so I must stop.