Well, if dealing with fleas on Christmas Day wasn't enough, after a full day of work no less, we are still dealing with fleas as we ring in the new year. If there is anything that will make you have second thoughts about pet ownership, it is dealing with a flea infestation in your home, and all over your delightfully cuddly and affectionate pets, those four-legged family members. Who, this morning, struck me as vile and disgusting and repellant. I didn't look forward to what I figured must lie ahead. My precious Sunday gone.
First order of business was to look up flea infestation on the internet. As I'd expected: work. Baths were a must. Yes, we'd done this on Christmas Day, but fleas have a life cycle, and like some other kinds of vermin e.g. lice, they have a stage which is resistant to treatment and requires a second attack on the problem a couple of weeks later when all the eggs start to hatch.
Fleas, unlike some vermin, do seem to live long and happy lives in our carpets, blankets, furniture, and dark corners. It makes you long for the flu virus which will obligingly die on door knobs and light switches if it doesn't find a living host.
To bomb or not to bomb? Well, we're not bombing today. Today would be difficult. Everyone is home and we've nothing to do elsewhere. A school day would be a much better day to bomb. But Mick, I believe, is going to try to get us through this without a bombing. We read the same article, however, we didn't get the same message. I'm not going to argue. I'm going to wait. And probably scratch.
So the pets have all been bathed again with flea shampoo. Hedwig, suffering the worst of the flea infestation, was first in the sink. Yowling, clawing, and carrying on like she weighed 800 pounds instead of 8. Favorite part of the flea treatment for me? On the flea shampoo it says to lather the cat well then leave them all sudsy for approximately four minutes before rinsing out. Luckily, I had Mick to hold the beast because she was as ferocious and as demented as usual. There is no way I could have bathed her and left her lathered up without another pair of very strong hands to help. And like last time, Hecate wasn't nearly as bad. And as usual, the dogs are just kind of happy little idiots and not much of a problem at all. EXCEPT THAT THEY ARE THE ONES WHO BROUGHT US THE FLEAS!!!
Except that I'm the one who is really responsible for this problem. We had flea treatment for the dogs (the cats, being indoor cats, didn't require a flea treatment if we could keep the dogs from being infested) in the cupboard that holds their shampoo. But...when I went off to work and begged Mick to take over the pet baths, I didn't remind him to administer treatment once a month. I forgot about it completely. Until I got home on Christmas Day and was asked to look at the black specks on Louise's back and to observe the scratch-scratch-scratching of ALL our pets.
I feel like we are a tainted household, marked by vermin and filth. It's like having v.d. I won't feel good until I know the problem is gone. And not just on a two-week hiatus as we wait for eggs to hatch. Right now, we're on that two-week hiatus. But Mick will vacuum and vacuum and vacuum every day. The article we read said that vacuuming is the first line of defense. The second is bombing, and if need be, we will, but I'm willing to try less toxic means at first.
Meanwhile, we have laundry piled HIGH. And as I look around our bedroom/ home office, I am struck by the number of pillows on our bed--Mick's two and my seven. They are all very necessary for a good night's sleep. My scalp itches a little. It has for a few days now. A couple of days ago I decided to ignore the fears that were drifting into my consciousness. Scratch. Scratch. I look at those pillows. I look at the clock. It is already 2:00 in the afternoon. The washer is slow, but thorough. Miranda's twenty blankets and a body pillow lie on the pile. Dog blankets, regular dirty clothes...will there be time for my seven pillows? Why bother?
I have flea bites on one shin and my head itches every couple of minutes. (Hey, can I use the cats' flea shampoo on my own head without giving myself cancer?)...Guess where Hedwig the Infested sleeps? That's right. With me and Mick. Often up on one of the pillows. By my head. My sympathy for her wanes as I contemplate how much time I have left in the day to deal with all this.
Scratch, scratch...scratch...scratch...
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