Itchy and Scratchy

Today

After a dismally cold and wet June and July, last week suddenly perked up, giving us warm and beautiful weather.

Unfortunately, the insects also perked up, deciding to seize the carpe diem and get on with what they do best- multiplying. In Lizzie's four-cat household this unfortunately meant fleas. From forgotten corners these beasts leapt up in their thousands, biting all mortal flesh in their paths.

Liz and Wesz went on the offensive with flea bombs, vacuuming, spraying. The cats were not just given one treatment each; the "Frontline" drops clearly not having been up to the task of stemming the tide. So, the cats were sprayed, squirted, combed and bathed.

"They really show their personalities when confronted with the bathing", said Lizzie.

I bet they do.

In My Day

When we lived at Rowan Avenue, back in 1977, our usual supply of two cats was augmented by another two. Beatrice's marriage break-up had left her with nowhere to house her two cats for the time being. Thus Pickles and Algernon came to join us. The cats seemed to rub along OK, though Pickles was a bit of a loner.

But we ran into the same problem as Lizzie; a massive flea infestation hit the house. There wasn't the same array of sprays, drops and inoculation available and we seemed to be relying on powder. This simply didn't penetrate Pickles' dense orange fluff so the fleas continued. I talked to a friend about it. "Bathe them in vinegar," she advised airily. I was unsure about this and asked the vet. "Well, if you're going to bathe cats," the receptionist said guardedly "we do a special anti-flea shampoo." I bought a large quantity and set off home. 

1. Rule number one: as it says on the IKEA assembly instructions, it is advisory to be two persons.
2. Rule number two: don't let the still unbathed cats see what you're up to, or they'll disappear for a fortnight.
3. Rule number three: figure out how you're going to get them dry afterwards - some cats become homidical at the sound of a hairdryer.
4. Rule number four: know your cats; that way, you'll be one step ahead.

We got out a washing up bowl and mixed the shampoo as instructed. First Agamemnon. He made an effort to escape but, realising he was outnumbered, decided to get it over with quickly. We scrubbed him, towelled him off and gave him a quick bast on the dryer. Next Amelia. She struggled and struggled without stopping. Shampoo got everywhere, probably into her eyes and mouth. Using the hairdryer would have spooked her entirely so we towelled her off and hoped for the best. Now Pickles. He was a docile, stupid object; a long-haired ginger. He hung there so miserably as we washed him, his fur slamped to his body making him look so skinny. We dried him thoroughly with the dryer; whereupon his long hair fluffed up, turning him into an orange ball.

Finally the wily Algernon; he allowed us to pick him up and place him in the water. His plan was clear: he was going to let us drop our guard so he could make a dash for it. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't disguise the slight tensing of his muscles as he prepared for flight. I tightened my grip around his chest and the job was done. The four miserable creatures looked at each other and wandered off. We did clear up the fleas, though.

These days we use the "Program" bi-annual injection system which ensures that fleas can't breed, and we never see one. As I point out to Abby when taking her for her jabs, she's forgotten how being eaten alive by fleas feels or she'd be more grateful.