Okay, I gotta be quick; my friend is graciously allowing me to use her phone as a hotspot. As promised, I saved up some blog posts for you on my hard drive and am uploading them now. Here is the first, and it is about none other than my dopey boy cat Methos. No time to link. If you’re curious, just type his name into the search bar on my blog. He is featured regularly.
Orig date:11/10/14
Clearly, my mother was right, and I have no fucking common sense. (Don’t tell her I said that.)
The cats have fleas– big, ugly, brown, hoppy bastards! We got some of that Hartz stuff and put it on their necks. (One of my vet tech friends told me I might as well have spit on them.) Maybe it’s worked some…maybe…but not fast enough. The cats (especially Methos–) have been driving me batshit with their scratching and biting and flaking bits of scabs and flea junk all over the place. Hubby and I are getting bitten. Darling Daughter prob is too, but she’s too happy being four to notice or care.
So yesterday my friend told me to salt the carpets and vacuum after 12-24 hours and she also gave me the [dubious] advice to bathe the cats in Original Dawn. Now, some of my more regular readers may already be shaking their heads and chuckling. They are no doubt recalling what I myself managed to forget (it was probably a defense mechanism,) and that is the traumatic event that was the last time I attempted to bathe Methos.
Don’t get me wrong; I knew it would be brutal. I even bought a pair of rubber dish gloves in preparation, a lame attempt to protect mine or my husband’s hands, (whoever was unlucky enough to have to hold him in the water,) until the fleas try to jump ship, so to speak.
Supposedly animals have three responses to fear; flight, fight, or freeze. With Methos, it’s fight and flight, and fuck up anyone in the way. He seemed to believe, despite our having taken loving care of him for almost eight years, that we intended to drown him– either that, or the water was lava.
Hubby had the gloves, (Methos still bit the shit out of him) and I ended up bleeding. DD wasn’t hurt at all but she still ended up screaming, in sympathy I guess, (sympathy with us or the cats, I don’t know.) I don’t think anything but his legs and tail even got wet. We chucked him in the cat room and shut the door, leaving him to recover emotionally.
Chloe was easier. She chose freeze (and cry.) Still, her undercoat never got wet. There was not a single flea in the water from either cat, but both were wet and upset, and we decided to just take the flea comb to them to see what we’d come up with.
As you may have guessed, the cats still have fleas.
Hahaha! Kelly! I miss your blogs. We need to take up an Internet fund to get you back on here!!!! Poor Methos!!!!
Thanks, Lisa. Yeah, Poor Methos takes a lot of (unintentional) abuse. But he is pretty Zen about it. I love that dumb bastard.
He sounds bipolar. Lol. We have a saying in the south. “He’s a sorry motherfucker but I like him alright.” The ironworkers used to say that to each other.
He’s…a cat…which is sorta like being bipolar I guess. 😉
Definitely 🙂
Reblogged this on Underground Energy and commented:
Hahaha! Gawd, I miss Kelly!
Thanks. We actually went with Fipro MAX. It cost a bit more but I’m done fooling around with those nasty little buggers… This is their second month of treatment. I am happy to report there is (thank god) no flea dirt now coming off of the cats and I have seen no fleas, although the cats do still scratch a bit more than usual.
Glad to hear you got those pesky fleas under control! They are nasty little creatures. xx
I know…all the blood sucking bugs gross me right out….fleas, mosquitoes…especially ticks… blech!!
Eeeeek!!!
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