Smell of success

          After finally hauling all the herbs indoors, and setting them up in front of the sunniest windows, I’m pleased to report that they are doing fine. I’ve positioned most of the plants on an antique, wooden ironing board that I found in the attic and perched under the south-facing window in my bedroom. There is actually enough free space at one end of the board that I have been able to craft myself a little makeshift desk of sorts too, so now I can type away each night on my laptop, surrounded by beautiful blooms, and completely enjoying the hard earned fruits (or herbs, in this case) of my labor. And since all the plants are still alive, I have been feeling pretty proud of my efforts. The thing is, a few days ago I noticed a new perfume in the room that arrived around the same times as the herbs and that isn’t all that appealing. I hadn’t thought too much about it, however, until my mother marched into my room yesterday, hands on hips, and announced, “It smells like cat piss in here.”

Usually, I would have been a little pissed myself at such an accusation, except, she was entirely correct; my room now smells unquestionably of feline urine. So, we set about finding the source. First of all, we don’t have a cat, so the obvious was ruled out. We took a good hard look at the dog, but decided he really had nothing to do with it. And that really only left the plants. My mother quickly crafted a theory, insisting that the herbs themselves would not smell like cat pee. What must have happened, she theorized, is that the neighborhood felines had been using our garden as a giant litter box, and I must have scooped up a few, let's say favors, during the replanting process. Lovely, I know, and I refused to believe this horrifying idea, which, if true, would ultimately mean that I needed to repot the already repotted plants with feline-specimen-free soil. Since it took me a month to dig up the herbs in the first place, imagine my enthusiasm for repeating the process now. So I did the only thing I could think of -- I spent the afternoon researching my predicament on the internet to prove this disturbing theory incorrect. That’s right, there were bills to get paid that I overlooked, proofreading to be done for my part-time job that has been pushed off until tomorrow, laundry to be washed that remains dirty, and many, many job applications for positions that I will ultimately be rejected from that did not get filled out today. But I found the answer, and it does not involve repotting. On The Guardian’s ‘Word of Mouth Blog’, I discovered this heartening tidbit from another herb enthusiast: “yet the basil I get from the supermarket in pots, smells and tastes, without fail, like a poorly maintained cat with questionable kidneys has micturated on it with enthusiasm.” And there you have it -- basil often smells like cat pee.

So now, with this knowledge in mind, I realize that my heroic efforts to save the garden and bring the plants indoors to weather the winter will be rewarded by several long months of cat-pee-smelling herbs just inches from my bed. I did, of course, also research some possible solutions for the odor predicament and found suggestions ranging from burn a cinnamon-scented candle to you know basil comes dried out in a plastic tube from the grocery store, right? For now I have made the best of the situation by deciding to embrace my beautiful bounty of herbs and to frantically rub the spearmint plant every time I enter the room in hopes that its aroma will overpower the basil. It’s not exactly a foolproof solution, but minty cat pee is certainly an improvement.