That's right. I'm talking about fleas.
Up until June of this year, I was living alone in a duplex in Candler Park. Well, not really alone. Lucy was always around, and I had foster dogs and foster cats in and out of the place. There was also my terribly angry, sassy, tailless cat named Rabbit (who was eventually adopted by an old lady down the street, and would only occasionally wander back to my place in order to gloat about how much better her new mum was. Rabs was just a bitch like that).
I was there for four years. In those four years, I never had any issues with fleas. Despite all the animals coming in and out of the house, despite not always being able to afford Frontline for all of them, and despite the backyard being this huge, overgrown mess that was undoubtedly chock full of all kinds of horrible bugs, fleas were never an issue.
Maybe the flea gods are punishing me for having managed to avoid the little pests for so long. I can just see them, sitting on their animal fur thrones, with little flea crowns, discussing the fact that some silly girl in Atlanta managed to evade them for too long. Clearly they need to set an example and teach people that you can't just have furbabies and plan to not have fleas.
The frustrating thing is that Lucy, Jizanthapus, and LouieCatKitty are all current on their flea meds. Lucy rarely has any issue with fleas, anyway, because Great Danes don't really have a coat conducive to a flea's extravagant lifestyle. The kittens are indoor cats, and still get their flea meds on the regular.
The Game Plan
Once it was discovered that there were fleas (for the record, it isn't like you walk into the house and have little bugs jumping everywhere. My roommate saw a bite, and checked the kittens where she saw a few of the bastards scurrying around. She also saw one on her arm later that day) the roommates and I coated the house in diatomaceous earth, ran a ton of laundry, washed the furbabies, and vacuumed everything. We thought that would be the end of the problem.
But the flea gods were not finished punishing me for having avoided them for so long. About a week went by, and it was discovered that there were still hoppy little bloodsuckers, ignoring all of our efforts to wipe them out and just living their stupid, annoying lives like nothing had happened.
So, again, we sprinkled the house with diatomaceous earth. We vacuumed. I bought some Death to Fleas spray, which we used on the upholstery and carpets. I also got some serious flea shampoo, and gave the animals another bath (this time with more scrubbing).
Washing the Kittens
It was actually pretty hysterical bathing the kittens. Louie meowed a lot, but eventually realized that he wasn't going to escape the tub and resigned himself to sulking, and occasionally making half-hearted attempts to climb out of the water. Once he was toweled off and set down, he noticed that the end of his tail looked like a string. He then spent 25 minutes spinning in circles in the bathroom, chasing the wet, floppy end of his tail. I thought he was going to make himself sick (but I still laughed when he spun his face right into the wall, gave the wall a dirty look, and then continued with his spinning).
Jizanthapus, on the other hand, was determined to outwit this evil bath thing. He flailed all of his legs out, trying to grab the edge of the tub. He picked up the towel that was placed in the bottom of the tub several times (my step-mum informed me that doing that is supposed to make the cat more comfortable. Something about them not being able to get purchase on the bottom of the tub freaks them out). Each time he flung it around, getting sudsy water everywhere until he eventually dropped it back into the tub and continued his weird, spastic, I Hate Baths dance.
By the time I was finished washing him, the bathtub was filled to the brim with bubbles. In fact, he was so good at agitating the water that if our washing machine ever breaks down, tossing the kitten in with my clothes, some water, and some detergent would be a good alternative until it's repaired.
I got Jizanthapus out of his bath while Louie continued spinning around the bathroom. I wrapped him up in a towel like a baby, and tried to calm him down. I could tell that he really enjoyed being wrapped in a warm towel, because he would occasionally forget about plotting to kill me in my sleep and actually purr. The sound of his own contented purring would snap him back to reality, though. So he'd immediately stop purring, and just glare at me with the most vexed, enraged expression he could muster.
I finally set Jizanthapus down, and left him to help Louie catch his tail.
The Aftermath
When Lucy gets out of a bath, she kind of loses her mind for a bit. She tears through the house, stopping suddenly before bolting into another room. For some reason, I feel like she's trying to outrun the feeling of being wet. She hates water. She refuses to step foot in any lake or pool. She will absolutely not go outside if it's raining. In the tub she just stands there, head down, wondering what she did to be forced to go through such an ordeal, but she makes sure to let everyone know she's positively despondent about the whole thing.
So after bathing the kittens and leaving them in the bathroom, I come back into my bedroom to see Lucy running laps around the room, tilted to the side like a racer taking a turn in a motorcycle grand prix. This went on for a while, and I worked around it, spraying things and gathering laundry, and all that good stuff. By the time I was finished, Lucy was passed out in the floor. I went into the bathroom to check on the kittens, and put on their new flea collars.
Louie was laying in the floor, occasionally spinning 180 degrees in an attempt to catch his tail. He was purring and generally enjoying himself. Then I see Jizanthapus. He was sitting on the rug in the floor, licking his tail. The rest of him had dried off, but his usually fluffy tail was still pretty wet. He made eye contact with me, moved his tail so he was laying on it, and glowered at me from across the room.
Moving Forward
The kittens are going to live in my bathroom for a week or so, so we can see whether or not we need to hire an exterminator (and also so Jizanthapus doesn't try to slit my throat in my sleep). Lucy is being kept either in my bedroom or in the backyard. And that's that. Hopefully we managed to catch the issue before it became a big issue, and won't need to deal with any of this anymore.
-L
Up until June of this year, I was living alone in a duplex in Candler Park. Well, not really alone. Lucy was always around, and I had foster dogs and foster cats in and out of the place. There was also my terribly angry, sassy, tailless cat named Rabbit (who was eventually adopted by an old lady down the street, and would only occasionally wander back to my place in order to gloat about how much better her new mum was. Rabs was just a bitch like that).
I was there for four years. In those four years, I never had any issues with fleas. Despite all the animals coming in and out of the house, despite not always being able to afford Frontline for all of them, and despite the backyard being this huge, overgrown mess that was undoubtedly chock full of all kinds of horrible bugs, fleas were never an issue.
Maybe the flea gods are punishing me for having managed to avoid the little pests for so long. I can just see them, sitting on their animal fur thrones, with little flea crowns, discussing the fact that some silly girl in Atlanta managed to evade them for too long. Clearly they need to set an example and teach people that you can't just have furbabies and plan to not have fleas.
 |
| "Feel the wrath of the flea king!" |
The frustrating thing is that Lucy, Jizanthapus, and LouieCatKitty are all current on their flea meds. Lucy rarely has any issue with fleas, anyway, because Great Danes don't really have a coat conducive to a flea's extravagant lifestyle. The kittens are indoor cats, and still get their flea meds on the regular.
The Game Plan
Once it was discovered that there were fleas (for the record, it isn't like you walk into the house and have little bugs jumping everywhere. My roommate saw a bite, and checked the kittens where she saw a few of the bastards scurrying around. She also saw one on her arm later that day) the roommates and I coated the house in diatomaceous earth, ran a ton of laundry, washed the furbabies, and vacuumed everything. We thought that would be the end of the problem.
But the flea gods were not finished punishing me for having avoided them for so long. About a week went by, and it was discovered that there were still hoppy little bloodsuckers, ignoring all of our efforts to wipe them out and just living their stupid, annoying lives like nothing had happened.
So, again, we sprinkled the house with diatomaceous earth. We vacuumed. I bought some Death to Fleas spray, which we used on the upholstery and carpets. I also got some serious flea shampoo, and gave the animals another bath (this time with more scrubbing).
Washing the Kittens
It was actually pretty hysterical bathing the kittens. Louie meowed a lot, but eventually realized that he wasn't going to escape the tub and resigned himself to sulking, and occasionally making half-hearted attempts to climb out of the water. Once he was toweled off and set down, he noticed that the end of his tail looked like a string. He then spent 25 minutes spinning in circles in the bathroom, chasing the wet, floppy end of his tail. I thought he was going to make himself sick (but I still laughed when he spun his face right into the wall, gave the wall a dirty look, and then continued with his spinning).
Jizanthapus, on the other hand, was determined to outwit this evil bath thing. He flailed all of his legs out, trying to grab the edge of the tub. He picked up the towel that was placed in the bottom of the tub several times (my step-mum informed me that doing that is supposed to make the cat more comfortable. Something about them not being able to get purchase on the bottom of the tub freaks them out). Each time he flung it around, getting sudsy water everywhere until he eventually dropped it back into the tub and continued his weird, spastic, I Hate Baths dance.
By the time I was finished washing him, the bathtub was filled to the brim with bubbles. In fact, he was so good at agitating the water that if our washing machine ever breaks down, tossing the kitten in with my clothes, some water, and some detergent would be a good alternative until it's repaired.
I got Jizanthapus out of his bath while Louie continued spinning around the bathroom. I wrapped him up in a towel like a baby, and tried to calm him down. I could tell that he really enjoyed being wrapped in a warm towel, because he would occasionally forget about plotting to kill me in my sleep and actually purr. The sound of his own contented purring would snap him back to reality, though. So he'd immediately stop purring, and just glare at me with the most vexed, enraged expression he could muster.
I finally set Jizanthapus down, and left him to help Louie catch his tail.
The Aftermath
When Lucy gets out of a bath, she kind of loses her mind for a bit. She tears through the house, stopping suddenly before bolting into another room. For some reason, I feel like she's trying to outrun the feeling of being wet. She hates water. She refuses to step foot in any lake or pool. She will absolutely not go outside if it's raining. In the tub she just stands there, head down, wondering what she did to be forced to go through such an ordeal, but she makes sure to let everyone know she's positively despondent about the whole thing.
So after bathing the kittens and leaving them in the bathroom, I come back into my bedroom to see Lucy running laps around the room, tilted to the side like a racer taking a turn in a motorcycle grand prix. This went on for a while, and I worked around it, spraying things and gathering laundry, and all that good stuff. By the time I was finished, Lucy was passed out in the floor. I went into the bathroom to check on the kittens, and put on their new flea collars.
Louie was laying in the floor, occasionally spinning 180 degrees in an attempt to catch his tail. He was purring and generally enjoying himself. Then I see Jizanthapus. He was sitting on the rug in the floor, licking his tail. The rest of him had dried off, but his usually fluffy tail was still pretty wet. He made eye contact with me, moved his tail so he was laying on it, and glowered at me from across the room.
Moving Forward
The kittens are going to live in my bathroom for a week or so, so we can see whether or not we need to hire an exterminator (and also so Jizanthapus doesn't try to slit my throat in my sleep). Lucy is being kept either in my bedroom or in the backyard. And that's that. Hopefully we managed to catch the issue before it became a big issue, and won't need to deal with any of this anymore.
-L
