Let me just tell you about my EPIC weekend.
It consisted of a lot of working out, some cleaning, and then the GFA of 2011.
For those of you not in the know, GFA = Great Flea Assassination.
If you remember, I told you a little bit about our little flea infestation here. So, this weekend, we decided that it was time to launch a legit attack on these a-holes. Particularly after I discovered that my poor little baby beagle guy Buck had scratched a gash behind his right ear because those bastards (excuse my language) wouldn’t leave him alone.
It started on Saturday morning. My mother went on a mission to purchase bug bombs. She came back with 12. Next, we set to work hiding all the things we DIDN’T want bug bombed. Toothbrushes, fruit, dishes, etc. Chad took off to go jet skiing, and my mom and I set off those foggers like there was no tomorrow. Picture the guy in the movies running just two steps in front of the massive explosions and you have me and my mother exiting the house to our awaiting getaway car.
(Replace his face with mine, and the gun with my purse, and this is what happened. Almost exactly.)
Whilst our house was under nuclear attack (the furbabies were safely isolated in my dad’s prior man cave), my mother and I decided to go on an outing. Cut to me and her in Target, with me frantically filling her cart with everything in sight that I wouldn’t want to buy myself. Such as skeleton hand salad tongs, new work shoes, nail polish, and Halloween sticky notes. $175 later… I offered to pay for lunch. Sounds fair, right?
After two hours, we returned home, and it felt like I had entered some sort of ghost house. We opened all the doors and windows, turned on fans, and retreated back to isolation to let things air out. Once we were clear to spend time in the contaminated area, I promptly took myself a nap with Buck. Then, I deemed it was time for the dreaded flea baths.
I started with Buck. I filled the laundry tub with warm water with flea shampoo mixed in, then picked the little fella up and plopped him in. Lucky for me, he does pretty well in the bath. He certainly doesn’t LIKE the bath, but he deals with it. After thoroughly scrubbing him, I freed him to go crazy in the kitchen, rubbing all over the bamboo floors. Next up, little Jasper. He goes to the groomer all the time, so you would think he would be okay in the tub. WRONG. He whines and cries like I am trying to drown him. After a good lather with the flea shampoo, I send him off with my mom to be dried and fluffed.
Break for tacos. Then comes the dreaded moment.
The cat bath.
Now, for those of you who don’t know Chad very well, you should know that he thinks he knows EVERYTHING. I told him that I didn’t think giving my cat a flea bath was a good idea. He says “we used to do it all the time with my cats”. Well Chad, your pet cats weren’t miniature panthers and only domesticated enough to bug you for food. So, we don our long sleeves and I head off to snatch my kitten face from her innocent nap in my mom’s good chair.
Chad meets me at the laundry room and takes her by the scruff of the neck and promptly plunges her into the laundry tub. ALL THE WAY IN. So, naturally she goes into fight or flight mode… which for her is both. She is flailing around and trying to get the hell out of dodge, and chad is screaming “I’m losing my grip, I’m gonna lose her!” So, I intervene, get a better grip on her, and try to calm her down. This is when we finally got a chance to see the extent of her infestation. The fleas were just SWARMING her head. My mom casually walked by and says “oh, yeah, she’s not happy”. Gee, thanks for your help MOM!
(Picture this, with only 3 legs, and flailing around going batshit crazy)
So, I finally had to call for her to come out and just start picking the fleas off poor little Freaka because there was no way we could let go of her at all. Finally we decided she’d had enough, and I held her completely saturated body close to me to keep her from completely losing it. Chad was like “just put her down!” Yeah, because I am going to put my 9 pounds cat, that now weighs 20 pounds with all the water on her, down to go apeshit all over the house. No thanks. So I sit on the bathroom floor with her in front of the heater and try to dry her off, all the while picking fleas off of her head.
She eventually forgave me, and let me put her flea collar on. So, it’s all good in the hood. Added bonus: she smells like Pert Plus and oranges.
After the full frontal attack yesterday, today was pretty mellow.
Woke up early, went to the gym, took a nap, went to bell choir rehearsal, and now catching up on my Jersey Shore episodes. (Snooki and Deena, WHAT?!)