It is officially hot. I know this because my wicker desk smells like cat urine. I bought the desk several years ago at a thrift shop and I cleaned it and de-cat-haired it, but the smell lingers on. The odor only appears when it’s hot outside. Since I wait all year for the warm months, I welcome the smell as a harbinger of nice weather. This might sound odd, but odd is the new black for my family, especially for my husband, Frank. He must exude pheromones that attract weird people and strange circumstances. Frank takes the train into Manhattan most afternoons for work. Since he comes home on the 12:30 a.m. or 1:30 a.m. train, he encounters his share of drunks, especially on weekends. One night, he was sitting on the train and a young woman sat next to him. He was eating a pretzel that he had just bought and the woman asked him if she could have the bag that the pretzel came in. He handed it to her and she vomited in it. Then she asked him if he wanted it back.

Another time, in the dead of winter, he was in an over-heated car full of drunken concert-goers on their way home. The drunks were hooting and hollering, the car was stiflingly hot, and a woman got on with a tiny little dog. Once the woman was seated, she released the dog from his leash so that he could run up and down the aisle. Not only did he run, but he marked his territory throughout the hot car. Meanwhile, oblivious to the smell, the heat, the dog’s antics, and everyone around them, a young couple was coupling in the front seat.

 The best story  involved Eartha Kitt. Frank saw her get on the train, so he approached her and said, “We have something in common, Ms. Kitt…our birthday!” She stared at him, snapped, “Shut up, you damn fool,” and strode away. For some reason, Frank thought this was hilarious. Okay, I do, too. Must be the cat urine.