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Most of Sunday afternoon we played “find the stench.” We emptied the trash and rid the refrigerator of suspicious leftovers. When we still could not locate the source of the evil smell, the horrid possibility of septic system trouble occurred to us.

Mid-septic tank panic, we realized that Misty had avenged herself for being excluded from Saturday’s rock hunt. She had rolled in something indescribably foul. As best as I can figure, she came across the excrement of a cat whose sole diet was rotten eggs and month-old cadavers.

The worse part of the ordeal was giving her a bath. Misty is a sweetheart when it comes to baths. She may look miserable and put upon, but she is well-behaved. Sacrificing my pristine bathtub to putrid cat-scat Misty was a nightmare that required copious amounts of bleach and scalding water (post-dog wash, of course).

After her thorough shampooing, Misty endured a half an hour of blow-drying and brushing. She was playful and enjoyed the attention. Next rock hunt, we’re dropping her off at Grandma and Grandpa’s.

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