and fought, and fought, and fought, and the fleas are still in the lead. I'm closing in on them, though. I think. They're small, but damn, they're crafty.
I am just boggled by this whole outbreak. I have not seen anything like this in decades. It is small comfort to know I'm not alone in this - like the economy, like the shaky job thing, like the house(s) I will be lucky to sell, it's not comforting to know that my boss, my friends, casual people I chatted with in the pet supply store, and even the guy who cuts my hair are going through this too.
Best tip - a teaspoon of Benadryl in the small, itchy dog helps everybody sleep at night. Passed along by my boss, who also has a Yorkie with fleas. Otherwise, I vacuum. And do laundry. And vacuum. And comb fleas off small, itchy dog.
I gave Boris a bath after identifying him as Patient Zero - the cat never cleans himself. He was leaving piles of flea dirt on everything he touched. I am not that oblivious, this was not going on for a long time - it blew up in the last week or ten days.
I wish I'd had someone here to take a video of Boris in the tub. I did it single-handedly, with good prep work and a probably illegal feline choke hold. He was not actually injured; he had enough lung power to bellow like an angry elephant. Murphy was outside the door, frantic that his friend was suffering, and I made it worse by yelling, "Murphy, call 911!" Boris did not think that was funny. He yowled and roared through the bath, and has not slept in my bed since. I put flea repellent on him and on Higgins. I did not bathe Higgins. He appeared quite decently clean, and also, Higgins is not a Pick Up Cat. Boris will struggle, Boris will yowl, Boris will not actually try to kill you dead. Higgins is a sweet, gentle, agreeable cat if you don't try to pick him up. He may have been an assassin in a previous life. When he tries to kill you, he means it. I have no idea why he is the way he is; we adopted him at around a year old, and I can only think that he was thrown and traumatized as a kitten, because we have never, ever, been able to pick him up. Yet he is a snuggly, purring, lap sitting cat. Just don't cross the line and try to pick him up.
So I looked at Higgins, and he looked at me, and his look clearly said, "Try it and die, bitch." We compromised - he allowed me to apply flea stuff. Good enough.
We are having a cold snap here, and while I would normally be moaning about dead plants, I'm rooting for a string of really cold nights, to kill the outdoor fleas.
Work situation - not getting warm, fuzzy feelings of job security. Didn't I just DO this not long ago?
I do knit a little now and then. Not overly successful lately.
Things that are going well: I got a haircut I don't hate, and made a really good pot of turkey chili last night. That concludes the good news from here in Flea World.