Mere Flea-Bitings

                Our flat is infested with fleas. My wife noticed that our cat kept scratching herself. We’ve always used Frontline flea treatment on her, although she’s a wild cat and doesn’t stay still long enough for you to get much on her, but we always managed to get some on. In any case, she’s an indoor cat. We cannot get her to go outside. How could she possibly get fleas?

                But the vet put a comb through her fur and found a living one. It makes me sick to think of it The vet put on some new, high powered stuff on her called Advocate, which is prescription only. Frontline, apparently, was good in its day, but lately, in cities anyway, fleas have become resistant to it. Our cat behaved well for the vet, as she never does for us.

                We also had to fumigate the flat with an ultra strong spray; and for a whole month, I have to vacuum-clean the flat every day. Vacuum-cleaning is my responsibility- my wife does practically everything else- and I’ve been remiss lately. This is my punishment.

                We were hoping, next week, to go to the coast for a few days, but we have had to postpone that. We don’t feel we can ask our regular cat-sitter to look after our little brute.

                I feel depressed every day when I sit in the front room. I feel- or at least I imagine that I feel- fleas all over me. The vet told us that you get more of them living on your carpet and soft furnishings than you do on your pet. In fact, we really ought to be grateful to our cat for letting us know of their existence.

                When we took the cat for her booster, earlier this year, the vet put a comb through her fur and didn’t find anything, so this is a recent problem. We’ve never had the problem before, but even the cleanest houses aren’t safe. We’ve thrown out sheets and bedding, as though we had the Black Plague. We don’t, I’m sure, have mice, so I don’t know how the fleas got in in the first place. Except that there are mice at work. I’ve been careful to check my bag each day before setting off home, but perhaps one of them left a calling card.

                I haven’t written anything lately, except for MorningPages and Writing Practice. I’ve been going to bed late, getting up late, and then, of course, I have to vacuum the house before I leave for work. I don’t feel unhappy about that, though. Writing is writing, and I’m not obsessed (at the moment) with finding THE RIGHT IDEA. Paradoxically, ideas are coming to me. It won’t be long now.