For the last couple weeks, Julie's been complaining about the smell in the basement. This morning the topic came up again, and I tried to calmly explain that because of the ceaseless rain this spring the water table is higher than normal — thus, the smell.

This morning the topic came up again and I promised to wash off the back steps leading downstairs — not that I thought it would do much good. After all, the water table is higher than usual. Thus, the smell.

Also several weeks ago, around the time she started talking about the smell, our cat Owen disappeared. I've written about him twice before, when he first got neutered, and after he disappeared.

"Do you think he could have crawled somewhere to die," Julie asked.

"No," I said, "I'm pretty sure he went out the other night and never came back."

Well, that ended that, but the smell lingered.

Tonight, when I came home from the coffee shop, Julie was outside the house and appeared upset.

"What's the matter?" I said.

"I think Owen is under the oil tank, I can't find a flashlight, I can't see. There's something black under there," she said.

I got the flashlight.

Owen had returned.

Normally, Julie is chatty. Particularly when there's some marital project involved.

This time, I put the ki-bosh on the discussion.

"I need a shovel, the gardening gloves and some cardboard — and some bleach," I said. "And I don't want to discuss it."

Julie was pretty good for a minute, but then she asked if I was going to bury him.

Absolutely, I said.

Well, I've written that Owen was the mischievous type and wouldn't you know it, he managed to wedge himself in between the oil tank's leg and the brick wall.

Consequently, he slid off the shovel several times.

I've also written about my toolbox, and tonight, I was grateful for the breathing mask, face goggles and the aforementioned shovel and flashlight.

And for the bleach. After two weeks, Owen had made some new friends, the quarter-inch long squiggly kind that had cozied up all about [and inside] him.