Crumb: Focus. Mine and yours…

It hasn’t killed my focus…

I sit here in my office typing or sorting or outlining with cats jumping up and down from my lap and I rarely think about it. My wife, however, can hardly walk into the kitchen – a hallway away – without stopping and squealing that she cannot and will not stand the smell of that litter box in the office. Mind you, these are her cats, not mine, and she chose where to put the little box, ‘so as not to offend anyone…’ I suggest that we open the back door and let them live on birds and lizards or feed the hawks, but they are too dear to my wife, and she’s having none of it.

My ’round about point is that I appear to be one of the lucky ones who requires a gross of cow pies forklifted into my office before I look up from the screen. My wife is moved by mere molecules of the stuff, which is, of course, what an odor is.

I don’t really know if there’s such a thing as increased sensitivity to smells, but it make molecular sense. But as much as it makes sense, I seem to be one who entirely looses attention to anything else when I’m reading or writing or walking in the woods. And my wife can’t be in a room with anything else when she works. Weird, but there it is.

Selah