Why My Cats Are Wet and Sad

Yesterday, we found a flea in our house.  One little pestilent bug, sitting there like a dark omen, waiting to bite our ankles.  Well, let me tell you, I was not waiting around to find a second flea.  I went all scorched Earth on that sucker.  You can’t give these things any leeway in the battle for your home.  And make no mistake, there was going to be a battle.  By the end of the day there would be blood.

The first thing we needed was flea-fighting weapons, so I stuffed the kids into the car and dragged them to Petsmart, which they loved because Petsmart is full of fish and lizards and stuff, and which I loved because Petsmart was full of Flea Bombs.  Ruby was quite concerned that I was actually going to blow up the house with these bombs.  This was a valid concern, given some of my previous home improvement projects, but I assured her that there was nothing to worry about.  I was simply going to fill the house with poisonous gas that would kill any living creature trapped inside of it.  Totally safe.

Once we got home I stripped all of the beds and dragged all of our sheets, blankets, pillowcases, and other assorted laundry to the laundry room.  I was not taking any chances.  Everything was getting boiled.  Step two was to capture the cats and put them in their beloved cat carriers.  For some unknown reason, neither of the cats wanted to be smushed into a tiny box with airholes, but eventually I did manage to get clawed to death.  Luckily I had gotten an extra life earlier in the level, so I regenerated and put the cats where they did not want to go.

Once the cats were safely duct-taped into their carriers I took the children outside and told them not to come into the house for any reason.  I closed all of the doors and windows, gathered up what I thought I would need for the next several hours, and then set off the bombs.  Holding my breath as I ran down several flights of stairs to freedom, it occurred to me that I had left the lights on in the bedroom, so I ran back into the toxic fumes and switched the light off.  Then I ran back down the stairs and gulped in the sweet, sweet air, thankful that I had not died again, as I was pretty sure that I was on my last life this time.

Once we had waited the appropriate amount of time, I went back into the flea bombed building and opened the doors and windows back up, turning on fans and air conditioners to try to get the noxious cloud of fumes to move out of my house and into one of my neighbors’.  There was nothing I could do to hurry this process, although by that point I was quite tired of hearing the cats yowl angrily at me and I was looking forward to bathing them with the flea shampoo.

Unfortunately we had a party to go to, so by the time the house was fit for mammals again, it was time to leave.  I decided to lock the cats in the bathroom until we got home, and then bathe them then, just in case they were full of fleas.  Since they are not allowed outside I’m not sure how they would have gotten these fleas, but I suppose that at this point it doesn’t really matter where the flea came from.  Only that I was going to destroy it, and all those like it.

I brought the cat carriers into the bathroom and carefully set them down on the floor, near the food and water I had set out for our furious pets.  I slowly opened their feline prisons and then slipped out the bathroom door before they could escape.  Perfect.  We got the kids ready to go to the party and were about to leave when I saw a small furry thing zoom past me, down the stairs and into the kitchen.  “I let the cat out!” called a cheery voice from the top of the stairway, and there was Edward, quite pleased to have destroyed everything I had worked so hard for all day long.

When I caught the cat and tried to squish it back into the ever-so-slightly cracked bathroom door, the other cat escaped and then the cat I was holding started clawing and biting me, so I dropped it, and now both cats, having been locked away for hours, were not about to let me anywhere near them.  This meant I had to break out the big guns.  My ski gloves.  Using my big, thick gloves I managed to catch one of the cats and get it into the bathroom, but it was clear that I was never going to get them both in, so I gave up and herded the other one out onto the deck, praying that it wouldn’t rain while we were out.  Or perhaps I should have covered the cat in the flea shampoo and then prayed that it would rain…

When we got home from the party my wife decided to volunteer for cat bathing duty if I would put the kids to bed.  I clearly got the better end of this deal, so I quickly set about the task of bedtime.  The kids got all ready for bed and tucked in, and so I went to check on my wife.  The bathing of the cats was over, and the two drowned rats that now lived in our house looked very upset and defeated indeed.  But I could tell that they had not gone down without a fight.  One glance at our bathroom and you would have sworn they had just shot an episode of “Dexter” in there.  Blood all over the place, fur and hair on the walls, and general destruction everywhere you looked.  I definitely got the better deal.

JJ had bitten my poor wife several times, and she had two deep puncture wounds that did not want to stop bleeding, although I think she’s okay now.  We cleaned her up and bandaged her arm while the cats moped around the house looking pathetic.  I don’t know if we got that flea or not.  I haven’t seen him anywhere around.  But I can’t help but think that maybe the flea won in the end anyway.  Even if he died, he sure got us good.  I spent lots of money and an entire day trying to fight him, my wife is bleeding all over the place, and the cats are wet and sad.  Well played flea.  Well played.

Posted in Cats, Dexter, Edward, Fleas, Misadventures, Ruby.

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