Well for those of you without access to a calendar, smartphone, or contact with anyone other than your cat, it is a good spell into the month of October. I’m not saying that cats aren’t intelligent enough to know what month it is, it’s just that they would most likely choose not to mention it if they were capable of such. Aloof they are.

Fun word, “aloof”, defined as “not friendly or forthcoming, cool and distant.” I’ve been accused of being aloof from time to time by those that are unaware that I’m actually a cat, or those that are unaware that I actually don’t like them.

“Don’t like” may be a bit harsh, “don’t prefer” would probably be more accurate. Either way, my wife claims I’m not very convincing at feigning an interest in anything or anyone that falls into either of those categories. My wife’s claims are generally pretty accurate when it comes to her husband and his occasional aloofness, and unfettered fondness for a loaf of soft sourdough bread and firm Granny Smith apples. We all got our things.

There are many reasons for being aloof, for being “cool and distant”. Perhaps, I’m of the impression that you would prefer to stay a bit cool and distant from me, so I am preemptively cool and distant from you to save you the trouble of being cool and distant from me. Consider it a gift. I act like I don’t see you in the grocery store, your ice cream doesn’t melt, my sourdough bread stays soft, Granny Smith’s stay firm…a win for all involved. You are welcome.

On a side note, as of late, I have consumed an alarming amount of Granny Smith apple slices, topped with Italian dry salami and a shmear of goat cheese. The texture, and possibly the taste, is delectable to those of us dwelling in the world of congenital or COVID induced anosmia.

My anosmia is congenital, and as I’ve explained in past columns in this very paper, most likely was precipitated by my overexposure to the fumes emitted by a 1969 Plymouth Road Runner fueled with leaded gasoline while I was a delicate, fragile, blooming fetus.

Delicate, fragile, blooming fetus…weren’t we all. Now look at us. Haggard, callused, and wilting. So it goes.

We grow, get evicted from the womb, face fluorescent lighting and a bushy eyebrowed doctor, are whisked away by kindly nurses that held it all together with Aqua-Net and Virginia Slims. Thus begins life. A glorious miracle.

Aqua-Net and Virginia Slims aren’t welcomed in hospitals anymore, so it is unlikely that we will exit in the same reverential manner in which we entered. Out with the old, in with the new I suppose. Ahh to be new again. To look up and see the faces that smiled down and doted upon our simple existence. Those faces that expressed so much joy in return for so little. Those faces were beautiful.

When’s the last time someone was happy you burped? Was excited when you picked up a Cheerio and almost put it in your mouth? Cheered when you went to the bathroom in a toilet? I suppose, given time, this low bar of expectations will return, and I suppose, those faces will be beautiful too.