"Smell My Knees, You Mother."

For some reason, my cat is fascinated by my left knee.

Whenever she climbs onto my lap, she gives it a sniff – and not just a passing one, but a thorough going-over. She never does it with my right knee, which clearly has no allure; only my left one. It’s a little disconcerting. What is it about the left knee that draws her tiny nostrils in?

This is by no means an isolated incident. She’s sat on me twice since I started writing this, and both times she’s smelt it. I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended. My port-side patella’s scent is either pleasing or pungent. It’s hard for me to judge which, as (1) in thirty-four years I’ve never been more than a few feet away from it (as in ‘unit of measurement’, and not ‘hoof’), and (2) I’m not flexible enough to get close to it. Whatever it smells of, she seems to like it. Am I part catnip?

Perhaps I spilt something tasty on it once that she’s still picking up, but if that’s the case I’d be surprised, as I wash my jeans regularly. Either her nose knows no bounds, or I use substandard detergent. She’s literally started sniffing it again this very minute. That’s three times she’s inhaled my knee aura in the past half-hour. If I was more self-conscious it would give me a complex. Thank God I don’t come into contact with many toddlers, as they’d be at optimum height.

(This is the sort of thing you write about when it’s past midnight. I’d like to remind you that this blog is free, so you haven’t lost anything by reading it.)