My cat must be delicious…

In The Daily Drool on November 10, 2009 at 4:20 pm

…because the fleas won’t leave him alone!

Seriously, I was petting the little guy last night and there was ANOTHER DAMN FLEA!  I want to find the flea captain and squish his little head for all the distress those little bastards have caused us this summer.  I wonder why they seem to hunt Daredevil like Thanksgiving day and leave my fat Miss Midnite alone… He must just be delicious.

So I checked the date, sure enough that Frontline was administered nearly thirty days ago to the second!  So I whipped out the last pack and doped the cats up… then I went to the pet store today to get flea powder to dose the patio (since that is the ONLY place I can see them getting him., he is an INDOOR cat, after all and I’m not seeing fleas anywhere else)  So I head out to the patio, broomstick in one hand, flea powder in the other, and I sweep, sweep, sweep, then I sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, and just as I am turning to open the glass door I see little Miss Midnite meowing at me from behind the glass and I just know- that damn door locked behind me…

And sure enough it did.

So now I am on the patio, cursing the door that latched on it’s own – totally stuck.  So I rattle and curse, and rattle and stomp, but the latch that unloosed itself is apparently easier locked than un-ed.  I pull a chair over, stand on it and hike my ass atop the fence.  I grab hold of the stairs above and swing myself over to the courtyard with a thump, praying I don’t land wrong and damage myself in the process.

I didn’t.

But now what?  Well… Now would be a good time to tell you that I am a great neighbor and I marched on over to Nell and Bill (we share tea on Sundays) and asked them if they had that spare key I gave them for just these kinds of emergencies… But I am a terrible neighbor, a hermit, and I don’t know any of their names.  So I holler in someone’s door and ask if they can call the landlord for me.  No answer.  But the timing works out because my upstairs neighbor (the only one I really have had any conversation with) comes home and lets me use her computer to IM my roomate and ask him to come rescue me.  (Technology has rendered phone number memorization unnecessary.  I could call my house circa 1985 because it is the only phone number I have memorized)

Roomie gets my instant message and rushes home to save me.

I am now inside my apartment, and I am blaming it all on those damned fleas!



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