Did The Cat Eat The Tobacco First?

“My god, Phil, what’s that horrid smell? It smells like burned tobacco mixed with cat droppings.”

“Hi, hon, you’re back already. That was a quick trip. It’s grandads old pipe. I found it after you left.”

“No traffic. I don’t understand why, it’s usually a mess this time of day. I did get rid of that old clock grandad tried to fix and left in a box. The guy in the clock shop said it was an antique and he’d fix it for a hundred or give me $25 then fix it and sell it. I told him I’d call him after talking to you.”

“Take the $25, we don’t have any place for it. What about the camera?”

“When I asked if he knew where I could take it he said he was where. Turns out it’s quite valuable and offered me $2,500.”

“Take it, what’ll we do with it otherwise?”

“I’ll call him. Now, about that stench.”

“I found his tobacco pouch too. God, I remember him screwing with that pipe and pouch for a half an hour before he’d light it. A silver tamping tool too, it must be here somewhere. It was a ceremony. I had to try it.”

“Did a cat eat the tobacco first?”

“He said it was an old calabash meerschaum he’d found during the war in England.”

“Which war? God, he was 101 when he died.”

“WW1. If it was old then, it’s really old now.”

“So you’re smoking 200 year old tobacco.”

“Damn, you’re right. He used it until he died though, so maybe 40 years old? I was 10 when he died.”

“I’ll call for an appointment.”

“For what?”

“Lung replacement.”

“Okay, point made. I’ll get new tobacco.”

“Why? You don’t smoke.”

“It’s cool.”

“You’re an idiot!”

“Yes, dear.”