I’ve been preparing to write about serious matters I would like to share with my readers, some things I have been considering and deliberating on for months now, even years, and — Yes. There is. Something. Smells like a dead mouse.

I just came in from shoveling snow — the heavy, wet kind that will turn to slush this afternoon. Some years, hordes of mice rush in as soon as the weather turns in autumn, but so far this year we’ve been pretty much mouse-free.

Still, there is a dead mouse smell in this apartment. Which is a shame, because of the important and serious nature of the subject matter I wish to impart to you.

I was hoping that I was imagining it and that there is really no dead animal in here, but I know, really, that odors are never imaginary, especially the smell of death. In the words of the immortal Hamlet, “You shall nose him as you go up the stairs.” Only Hamlet was talking about Polonius, not a mouse. Polonius would be worse. Even so, it boggles the mind how much smell one small mouse can generate.

You would think that Jupiter, the cat, could be prevailed upon to come in and find the offending object for me so that I could dispose of it, since in all likelihood he was the one who chased it down, tortured and killed it and then left its body, but no dice.

“My job here is done,” Jupiter would say if he could bring himself to make the effort to raise his head from the pillow.

Come on, Jupe! If you won’t do it, maybe I’ll borrow Scrappy, the little terrier who is staying next door.

In the usual course of events, a cat loses all interest in the hapless creature he has murdered after he has thrown it around for a while. Generally, he just stalks off disdainfully, seldom evincing the slightest desire to eat his prey, much less give it a decent burial.

“Dead mouse somewhere in the room?” The cat says. “Hey. You’re on your own.” Cats are something like French chefs I have worked with who prepare magnificent feasts and then majestically leave the kitchen mess for the dishwashers — called divers, or plongeurs — to clean. Except cats never prepare magnificent feasts, unless slaughtered rodents are on the menu.

On the other hand, any dog in the world will race into a room and immediately locate the mouse, which it considers highly interesting and odorous, in a good way. In fact I would doubtless have to prevent the dog from rolling on it.

What I initially set out to discuss today involves the high value of riparian riverine habitat relationships and their role in today’s changing world. Regarding findings of the California Interagency Wildlife Task Group that could impact the Adirondack Park, New York lawmakers said, “Sure, it’s a problem, but why throw money at it?”

On second thought, bringing in canine assistance won’t work, because in this case that would entail going through a lot of preliminary cat and dog drama which would no doubt preclude ever getting around to the mouse at all.

Fall and winter are rife for intensified predation in the natural world. In fall, Halloweenish spider webs drape the porch; then arachnids come inside your home to lay their eggs. House cats get restless, wanting to go outside at night to hunt. Yes, Kitty, you are a nocturnal obligate carnivore. But remember, the apex predators shared your instinctive urge to fatten up before the long winter began, and now, for them, desperation has set in. Coyotes, foxes, bobcats and fishers are out in the backyard looking for prey, including, they fondly hope, the odd house cat.

Jupiter hates getting his feet wet and he is no fan of cold weather. According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, for the first time in four years, we’ll have an El Nino winter, drier than usual and with warmer than average temperatures for the northern tier of the continental United States — yes, that includes us — from December through February.

Then how to explain this heavy wet snow? Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas yet.

All right, I really have to do something about the dead mouse. I hope I find it soon. More about riparian habitat funding in California next time.

Have a good week.

(Martha Allen, of Keene Valley, has been writing for the Lake Placid News for more than 20 years.)