mr poo was his name, an all black Manx, who was quite annoyed if you ever touched his little bobbed tail and made a laugh - he roamed outdoors, and therefore always smelled of the earth and sky - to bury my nose into his fur when we slept at night, felt whispers of 'freedom'. he is a particularly bittersweet memory for me, as when one of my guardians died and our house went for sale, mr. poo went to a new home clear across the city of Seattle - however our bond was so great, he made his way back to me by foot ... when he arrived several weeks later, the smell of freedom felt disappeared, and inside there was a new smell that taught me of ardor and pain and persistence. he was sent away again, back to that same new home, and once again he ran away, yet in that escape never made it back to me. the interesting parallel, that prompts me now to open and write this, is when my Zoe Bella came to me 11.5 years ago, her aroma was completely opposite - sweet, creamy and delicious as a powder puff with hints of cotton and caramel ... all our years together, this was her scent. when she became ill this summer, her smell changed -- it was for me a near instant memory regained, the same smell of mr. poo in that return to me - inside I knew she was leaving and indeed a month later she was gone.
- Éva-Marie Lind