DIE, BASTARD
There’s been an epidemic going on at my house and it hasn’t been pretty.
If you are squeamish about creepy crawly things or have nightmares about being dropped into a tank full of tarantulas you should NOT read any further. You’ve been warned.
~~*~~
My darling cat had either developed some kind of OCD or we had another kind of problem. She’d been burying her head in her fur, gouging at her skin and cleaning herself obsessively.
I was starting to itch too, so obviously we both had dry skin. I’d just switched to a heavy moisturizer and wondered if it was legal to oil her up or throw her in a bubble bath to relieve the itching.
One evening while she laid on my lap I ran my fingers through her hair and felt a lot of sores under her neck and on her lower back. “What the hell is this?” I spread her fur to expose her skin when right there at that very moment a tiny black thing went scurrying off into the un-parted fur. I jumped out of my seat propelling kitty onto the floor like this dust-sized-particle was going to get me.
What the ....!
Kitty looked at me with shame, lowered her head and diverted her eyes to the ground as she slowly walked away.
FLEAS. How the hell do we have fleas when I have an indoor cat and no other pets and she’s lived here for over a year with no problems until now?
I went to a local pet store and got that chemical stuff you put between their shoulder blades. You put it on and fleas be gone, right?
This made our new friends very unhappy and there was a full blown war on poor kitty’s body. I’ve always had cats and never had this problem so I called the vet and they recommended I bring her in. It’s nearly impossible to get her in the crate, and yes I’ve tried all the tricks. Although kitty is a lover girl, she’s part wild with 20 needles that quickly extend out of her 4 paws when you even go near the crate.
In order to treat her at home I’d have to wait a while because the CRAP that I got from the pet store goes into their bloodstream and the only way the visitors die is when they bite her. Every single visitor has to bite her before they’ll die? That’s horrible. I didn’t know and I know not what I do.
I do know that I’m not winning Mother of the Year award.
Time went by with kitty being attacked from every angle as the visitors claimed victory - and I counted down the days until revenge was mine. She’d look at me exhausted, conveying a silent “Help me.” in her forlorn eyes. With a look of surrender she started isolating herself and her misery and her food sat in its bowl only to be thrown out day after long day.
I called the vet 4 or 5 times - the time had finally come.
GAME ON. It was full out war and I was armed with chemicals. Lots of chemicals.
I was on a mission to save my family and the sanity of me and my feline friend. Kitty was given Frontline Plus and quarantined in a room while I vacuumed everything I own and moved every piece of furniture and removed every loose piece of linen and sealed them in bags. The bag-less vacuum was carried outside before removing the container of debris and LITTLE BASTARDS and all their little eggs too.
When it was safe, I moved kitty from quarantine and vacuumed and sprayed the crap out of last remaining room.
I was taking back control from these miniscule black specks that have no purpose other than to wreak havoc on your life. And the little flea carnivals people think are so funny and entertaining SHOULD BE BANNED.
The results were almost immediate. The bastards were falling off of her to their death and with a mad scientist’s wild eyes and an evil grin I watched, chanting DIE BASTARDS. DIE.
Peace was slowly restored.
This little darling was found on my bed, which conveniently has all white linens on it.
A single flea that could no longer jump - it circled round and round throwing its head in the air crying “Why?” “Why?” like figure skater Nancy Kerrigan after being viciously clubbed in the knee before the Olympics. And I couldn’t resist photographing the demise of our unwelcome friends because, who gets to photographs fleas? The carnival people, that's who. I know it's gross, but I'm a warrior now and I do not fear these jumping black specks.
Now, if any little thing graces my skin, I immediately get into a martial arts position ready to fight. I’ve learned a lesson the hard way of what not to do.
Kitty looks like a mother that had just given birth. Peaceful, relieved, and absolutely exhausted. Besides eating all of her food, this is what she did all day -
I woke up this morning to find her standing on my chest, staring at me from five inches away with dilated pupils and smiling eyes like someone whose fever had broke and they feel “human” again. And although she can’t speak human, I knew exactly what she was trying to convey.
Intense Gratitude.
If you are squeamish about creepy crawly things or have nightmares about being dropped into a tank full of tarantulas you should NOT read any further. You’ve been warned.
~~*~~
My darling cat had either developed some kind of OCD or we had another kind of problem. She’d been burying her head in her fur, gouging at her skin and cleaning herself obsessively.
I was starting to itch too, so obviously we both had dry skin. I’d just switched to a heavy moisturizer and wondered if it was legal to oil her up or throw her in a bubble bath to relieve the itching.
One evening while she laid on my lap I ran my fingers through her hair and felt a lot of sores under her neck and on her lower back. “What the hell is this?” I spread her fur to expose her skin when right there at that very moment a tiny black thing went scurrying off into the un-parted fur. I jumped out of my seat propelling kitty onto the floor like this dust-sized-particle was going to get me.
What the ....!
Kitty looked at me with shame, lowered her head and diverted her eyes to the ground as she slowly walked away.
FLEAS. How the hell do we have fleas when I have an indoor cat and no other pets and she’s lived here for over a year with no problems until now?
I went to a local pet store and got that chemical stuff you put between their shoulder blades. You put it on and fleas be gone, right?
This made our new friends very unhappy and there was a full blown war on poor kitty’s body. I’ve always had cats and never had this problem so I called the vet and they recommended I bring her in. It’s nearly impossible to get her in the crate, and yes I’ve tried all the tricks. Although kitty is a lover girl, she’s part wild with 20 needles that quickly extend out of her 4 paws when you even go near the crate.
In order to treat her at home I’d have to wait a while because the CRAP that I got from the pet store goes into their bloodstream and the only way the visitors die is when they bite her. Every single visitor has to bite her before they’ll die? That’s horrible. I didn’t know and I know not what I do.
I do know that I’m not winning Mother of the Year award.
Time went by with kitty being attacked from every angle as the visitors claimed victory - and I counted down the days until revenge was mine. She’d look at me exhausted, conveying a silent “Help me.” in her forlorn eyes. With a look of surrender she started isolating herself and her misery and her food sat in its bowl only to be thrown out day after long day.
I called the vet 4 or 5 times - the time had finally come.
GAME ON. It was full out war and I was armed with chemicals. Lots of chemicals.
I was on a mission to save my family and the sanity of me and my feline friend. Kitty was given Frontline Plus and quarantined in a room while I vacuumed everything I own and moved every piece of furniture and removed every loose piece of linen and sealed them in bags. The bag-less vacuum was carried outside before removing the container of debris and LITTLE BASTARDS and all their little eggs too.
When it was safe, I moved kitty from quarantine and vacuumed and sprayed the crap out of last remaining room.
I was taking back control from these miniscule black specks that have no purpose other than to wreak havoc on your life. And the little flea carnivals people think are so funny and entertaining SHOULD BE BANNED.
The results were almost immediate. The bastards were falling off of her to their death and with a mad scientist’s wild eyes and an evil grin I watched, chanting DIE BASTARDS. DIE.
Peace was slowly restored.
This little darling was found on my bed, which conveniently has all white linens on it.
A single flea that could no longer jump - it circled round and round throwing its head in the air crying “Why?” “Why?” like figure skater Nancy Kerrigan after being viciously clubbed in the knee before the Olympics. And I couldn’t resist photographing the demise of our unwelcome friends because, who gets to photographs fleas? The carnival people, that's who. I know it's gross, but I'm a warrior now and I do not fear these jumping black specks.
Now, if any little thing graces my skin, I immediately get into a martial arts position ready to fight. I’ve learned a lesson the hard way of what not to do.
Kitty looks like a mother that had just given birth. Peaceful, relieved, and absolutely exhausted. Besides eating all of her food, this is what she did all day -
I woke up this morning to find her standing on my chest, staring at me from five inches away with dilated pupils and smiling eyes like someone whose fever had broke and they feel “human” again. And although she can’t speak human, I knew exactly what she was trying to convey.
Intense Gratitude.
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