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Aromatherapy

Vasily, pictured in my user icon, just comes strolling in and settles into his usual spot beside me at my desk. I reach down and stroke him, simply an automatic gesture while I am doing something else, and after I bring my hand back up I smell rosemary, as fragrant and crisp as autumn. Vasily has already laid down, so he isn't thrilled with my one-handed efforts to hoist him up. He is the original boneless cat, however, so despite his 12 lanky pounds I am eventually able to scoop him into my arms and simply inhale him, held close, nuzzling his fur with my nose and muttering endearments. "My darling rosemary cat," I say, idiotic with love, and he closes his eyes, head held back regally while I worship him. The scent is strongest along his chin--no doubt he has been rubbing his face along some neighbor's border, claiming it as his own.

Obviously I have put him down, but my head is still clearer, and a faint taste of evergreen has seeped through my nose and onto my tongue.