About a week and a half ago we got a new cat from some county group or no-kill shelter type operation that has volunteer “foster families” that take these pets in until somebody adopts them.

So anyway. We went to one of their weekly adoption events fully intending to bring home a cat. After some deliberation, we chose “Loki”, a neutered, shorthaired, all-black male cat, about eight months old. His “foster parents” said he’d probably be a decent match for our household, though they seemed rather keen on foisting his littermate (a female) on us instead. Since we’ve noticed over the years that female cats are basically psychotic, whereas neutered males are mellow and pliant, we ignored their suggestions and brought Loki home.

Loki’s initial homecoming was pretty much what we expected, at least of him. Once out of his carrier, he sought out the nearest piece of furniture and promptly squeezed himself underneath it. Surprisingly, though, the other cats took little notice of the new arrival; even our aforementioned psychotic females, who normally make it abundantly clear that any new pets should follow the procedure of A: fucking off, and B: dying, ignored him. So far, so good, we thought.

The next day found Loki under our bed. He refused to budge from this quiet, dark location, and no amount of enticements could coax him from his bolthole. He eschewed food, water, and the litterbox in favor of perceived safety. The other cats continued to ignore him. Still, so far so good. It was a bit of a concern that he wasn’t interested in exploration yet, but we continued to leave him alone so that he could come to terms with his new surroundings on his own.

Day three saw marginal improvement. Loki was finally confident enough to leave his hiding place under the bed, but instead of exploring the house, he merely slunk from underneath one piece of furniture to the next, staring nervously at his strange new world. He still hadn’t eaten or drunk, as far as we could tell, nor used the litterbox. I called his former family to inquire as to whether he had a generally timid personality or not. They were surprised to hear of his behavior, but assured me that he was bound to come around soon.

Their words proved prophetic, as hunger overcame fear, and he finally ate, drank, and became more friendly with his new family. He also used the litterbox. Oh, God, did he use the litterbox.

Those bastards could have warned us.

This cat… stinks. You know the cliché "what died inside you"? Several thousand things must have died inside this cat. He is either undead, or his anus is an interdimensional gateway to the foulest charnel house in the ninth ring of Hell. With but a single visit to the litterbox, one is immediately aware of his doings. The voiding of his infernal bowels is an event of unparalleled horror. The stench is incredible. Keep in mind that we have been living with three cats for some time, and at one time had four. We maintain multiple litterboxes in the laundry room to accomodate our feline sanitary needs. It’s not like we’re squeamish about cat poop; we scoop the litterboxes every day, and you couldn’t normally detect their existence unless you tripped over one of them.

Now the litterboxes are a veritable olfactory beacon, a noisome odor that we are thus far powerless to inhibit, mask, or dispel. This is the sort of smell that does not just accost the nose, it assaults it. I’m surprised I haven’t been breaking out into nosebleeds. Clearly, something had to be done to combat this environmental menace. A liberal admixture of baking soda in the litterboxes had no effect whatsoever. An ad-hoc spray composed of lavender oil (which is a very strong fragrance), eucalyptus, and citrus was insufficient. One of those old-fashioned conical air fresheners, with a citrus scent, was put into the laundry room, and, combined with the powdery nature of all the baking soda, it smells like somebody took a dump into a container of Tang.

We took him to the vet (it turned out he had ear mites), and the vet recommended we put him on kitten food. Hopefully this will sort out whatever gastric abomination is causing the reek. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.