We recently adopted Fred, a cat from the Humane Society. Fred is beautiful and friendly, with a shiny coat, and a curious disposition. He gets along well with the other two cats, and I would consider us a happy family and that's that—except for one thing.

When Fred uses the litter box, it makes my eyes water. I figured that he may have been under stress at the shelter, and that once he grew accustomed to his new digs, pun intended, and started eating the same thing as our other cats, the odor would naturally settle down. (I realize that cat boxes aren't known for being a bed of roses, but I'm a fanatic about keeping them scooped out. They really can be odor-free if you stay on top of it.) I'm particularly scrupulous about the litter box just outside the door to the study where I work, for obvious reasons.

I've lived among cats all my life and I've literally never smelled anything like it. It's just a very very strong, pronouncedly foul, and utterly depressing odor. I can't even describe it; it's 20 times worse than normal cat shit.)

I'm thinking it's time for a visit to the vet, immediately, because I keep thinking if he has a parasite it must be terribly uncomfortable. Not only that, but the other cats could be at risk. We definitely do NOT want to risk them picking up this, whatever it may be.

My partner, on the other hand, notes that Fred's due for a round of booster shots in a June, and doesn't see the harm in waiting that long. (He might see the harm in it if, like me, he had been actively driven from the house by the sheer stench multiple times a day. But for whatever reason, Fred doesn't normally use the upstairs cat box, and as a result, that's where the smart money would go if the litter boxes were ever involved in some kind of competitive smell test.

No amount of cajoling will convince my partner to come downstairs to bear olfactory witness at the crucial moment. Inevitably, he arrives at the scene of the crime ten minutes or so after the fact, like a police inspector on a BBC murder mystery, after the evidence has had a chance to dissipate and I've had a chance to burn enough incense and spray enough neutralizer to supply a monastery while punching a hole the size of Arizona clean through the ozone layer.

He—my partner, I mean, not Freddy—really believes I'm exaggerating or overdramatizing.

I'm not.

Freddy is a few weeks shy of one year. I haven't weighed him, and I'm really not very good at estimating. If I were to estimate his weight, it would be scarcely more accurate than a random guess; he's still just a bit lanky and kittenish, but he already has a handsome frame. [Photo will be posted momentarily]

Name: Fred Species: Domestic felineAge: 11 monthsSex/Neuter status: Male, neuterBreed: mixed, with tabby coloration and patternBody weight: 9 lbs., 2 oz. (4.1kg) ***WILD GUESSDisposition: Highly gregarious and affectionate, one hesitates to say "codependent," but that's perfect for me anyway.History: Was adopted through Humane Society "home adoption" program, so was still living at previous home.Clinical signs: Very malodorous feces.Duration: It has gone on for several weeks, ever since he came to live with us.General location: Salt Lake City, UT, USWhen Freddy arrived, he seemed the glowing picture of health, and still does, although he did have a patch of new fur regrowth beginning to fill in over a shaved patch on one paw, which was been explained through the grapevine in many conflicting versions as resulting from either an injury or an IV line to treat an illness. So far the details are fuzzy.

It occurs to me that, had he received IV antibiotics, it would almost certainly have messed up his gastric flora. But would that be enough to have caused this? I might try feeding him some yogurt, if the other cats will stand for watching him get a special treat.

On second thought, I guess they'll all have to get yogurt. LOL

Any thoughts? Cheers!