I was sitting here minding my own business, playing a nice little game of Snood, and felt something crawling up my neck. I grabbed it and took a look.
A flea.
I had a flea crawling on my neck.
To my credit, I did not jump or scream. There were no hysterical outbursts of any kind. Nor did I utter any profanities. . . (that I can remember anyway.)
I squished it to death on the spot with malice and forethought. Well, can one sixteenth of a second qualify as forethought ?
I have been on the rampage ever since.
Just this morning I took the cat outside on the patio and dunked him in the flea dip. He howled in protest making so many odd, and spine chilling sounds that my next door neighbor came outside to see what was going on. There I was, with my big blue rubber gloves on looking like I was conducting a particularly nasty scientific experiment on poor Bob.
I haven’t seen him since. ( My cat, not my neighbor ) He’s hiding out somewhere while he dries out. I am sure he is VERY put out.
Robbie has had his flea drops last week, the expensive, “never fail” variety. I have sprayed their favorite sleeping places, washed the cat’s bed and wandered around here like some kind of crazed sociopathic vermin killer all afternoon. I gave Robbie another bath and sprayed him here and there just in case. I have done everything that I can do at the moment about the situation. But my REAL question is this :
WHY did God make fleas ?
I am telling you, I cannot for the life of me figure out how they fit into the grand scheme of things, and frankly I am not going to be satisfied with just any whimpy ,namby pamby, mealy mouthed answer. I want some heads on platters. Preferably flea heads. Lots of them.
Why should these annoying little blood sucking insects pester my pets who are minding their own business, doing their dog and cat duties with good humor and grace ?
I feel so hampered in my fight against these teeny tiny terrors, because they are so small, and can hide so easily. In my head, I am imagining them much bigger and the tool I want to eradicate them with looks very much like a flame thrower. I want their nasty little butts toasted. No, fried to a crisp would be better. And I would not mind hearing some begging for mercy, which I would most certainly ignore.
Unless someone can explain to me why I should let any of them live.
Anyone ?
I didn’t think so.
Where are the matches? Stand back. I am lighting the flame thrower.
Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhh !
Oh, listen ! Bob is meowing at the front door. He hasn’t run away from home after all.
The saga continues.