Episode 182: In which I continue to despise my car
Regular readers know that there is no love lost between me and my Passat. The Passat is rather like the passive-aggressive friend you can't quite keep but can't quite rid yourself of, either.
She likes to be minimally functional, but pesky. Serviceable enough that you can't justify getting rid of her (unless you care about things like BRAKES) but with enough odd quirks that you have to explain quite a bit to the valet guy before you hand the keys over.
This weekend, though, I began to suspect that my car had upped the ante.
Before I had the motor to the sunroof forcibly removed, she would open and close her roof at her own discretion. No matter the number of closing attempts or volume of shouts otherwise, she would remain stalwart that she remain open during thunderstorms or while parked beneath trees.
It appears that she has adapted (clever girl) and now has the power to open the side windows at will.
I noticed that my car smelled like BO this weekend. I didn't think much of it, since Dimitri was playing grease monkey with Craig's truck before needing to park my car in the garage himself. Normally a fastidiously clean guy, I nevertheless assumed that the odor was from him, and vented the car.
But the smell came back. And back. And back.
The Passat's window was open (not by me, I assure you) and the male cat next door** apparently took the opportunity to mark the interior of my Passat as his territory. Those of you with un-neutered male cats or who, say, live within a three-mile radius of a male cat know how foul this stench can be.
For those of you unfamiliar with the stench, I am happy to drive my Passat to your county line and let you take a whiff from your backyard. It's that bad.
Ideas, anyone? Baking soda? Febreeze? Napalm?
**When I say next door, I refer to where his owners live, not he. He likes to shit in my backyard and spray directly at Ruby's face while she watches him from the sliding glass door. He mates with other cats on my front step. I have the matted hair in my welcome mat as proof. This cat is the height of uncouth, a veritable feline Kevin Federline, if you will.