I knew something was different as soon as I opened the door. It was the smell...stale and old, like an ancient house that had been kept dark for centuries. This house is old and well stocked with more nick-nacks, battered lamps and ceramic vases than one could ever hope to find a place for, which could certainly make the claustrophobic feel rather constricted. Yes, at times the overflow of forgotten junk can be annoying, but it gives this place a decidedly grandmotherly feel (a feeling I quite enjoy now that my own grandmother has passed). Until today the air in the house has been fresh...unless you ventured into the basement after a particularly nasty day of baptisms and defecations by the two house-rats (I dare not call them dogs because these animals lack any of the common sense or cuteness of their canine counterparts) and in those instances a gasmask would not save you from the assault - but I digress... The smell stopped me in the entry way, backpack still slung, key still in han