(For years, while I lived in Germany, we had a Stammtisch – Regulars Table – every Friday night at our local gasthaus. Talk about fun times! Arrive at 6:30, leave at 11:00 with no waiters trying to hurry you out every fifteen minutes. The Germans are ahead of us in MANY things. Once we moved back to the U.S., I tried to continue the tradition, but at home with all of our neighbors. Successful most nights, but last night? Read on.)
During Stammtisch on the screen porch last night, while friends sipped their wine and ate delicacies such as Spekuloos cookie butter on soft white bread – don’t ask, just try it – I kept getting a whiff of, umm, something not so pleasant. Egads, not good for a hostess to smell something like this! It just seemed to be at my end of the sofa, no one else could smell it, or they were too polite to mention. Checked the feet, did a discreet smell check of the sweater (Really, when WAS the last time I washed that sweater!) but nothing. Finally, after everyone was gone, I took a close look under the furniture. Yeah, eau de chipmunk from behind the planter. My cat, a lover AND a hunter. Damn cat door.