Having spent the first nine months of his life feeding from a dumpster, Nathan Alan Willoughby was well acquainted with the scents of such. Fortunately, a dumpster behind a pizza parlor was not so bad. He learned rotting spinach was to be avoided (at all costs), cheese stuck to cardboard boxes was fair game, and oregano and basil meant tasty tomato sauce.
Since Edie adopted him from the Westwood Rescue for Good Cats, Nathan Alan Willoughby learned more about fragrances. When Edie got ready for work, he smelled soapy lilac. If she was cleaning his litterbox with Mr. Clean, Edie'd wrinkle her nose and say "pew." The cat watched and agreed, but for very different reasons.
One Saturday morning, Edie came in carrying a crinkly paper sack. Nathan Alan Willoughby was fast asleep. His dream of chasing a cricket morphed strangely into a large orange gourd chasing him. Then, he woke up.
Ginger, cloves, and cinnamon filled his nostrils. He sat up and walked over to Edie. He sat at her feet and stared as she sipped coffee. "Pumpkin donut?" she asked. She broke off a small piece and put it on the floor in front of him.
He sniffed it. Ah-ha. He tasted it. Excellent. Nathan Alan Willoughby meowed and put his paw on Edie's leg. "That's enough, friend. You need to watch your weight." This was utter nonsense to the cat. She gave him something delicious and she had more. Why wasn't she sharing?
Nathan Alan Willoughby dug his nails into Edie's pant leg. "Mow!" he demanded.
"Fine. You can have one more bite. Too much of a good thing isn't good for you, Nathan Alan Willoughby. Me, I'm going out for a run after this, but I know you. You only play with that little catnip mouse for ten minutes and you're winded. Here you go, but that's it."
He gobbled up the last bite of pumpkin donut. It was wonderful. He didn't understand why he could only have a little, but he learned to trust Edie. He would learn to be content.