Sunday night is bath night for the animals. It's been that way since I can remember. Now, I know that some people don't believe in doing any work at all on Sundays but we are not those people. As I brushed Klea to get her ready for the inevitable, I spotted a tiny, black, walking spec in the clump of fur. I pulled the fur ball out of my ShedEnder and whispered, "Please don't be a flea".
Slightly panicking, I pulled her thick fur apart to look for more of these minute bastards. I found one. Angry, at myself not at Klea, I picked myself up off the floor, threw on my coat, and made way to my local pet store. I cannot explain how pissed off I was/am at myself. Klea's been scratching for days. When I got home on Wednesday, she had scratched a bald spot into her fur.
If you remember what we went through with Ginger, I thought that Klea might be going through the same thing. Or that it could be stress or the change in her diet. It never once crossed my mind that it could be fleas because she's never had fleas. It never occured to me that she didn't have fleas because I was super vigilant about treatments. (Just thinking about that tick makes me want to upchuck all over again).
Anyway, around 7:30 last night, Klea got a flea bath so serious that it turned her fur blue (which then took 3 rinses to get out). And then she got the flea dip. Then I put her in the storage room so that I could sprinkle carpet fresh for fleas and get it all vacuumed up. I will not tolerate bugs.
You got me once Mr. Flea, but now its game on.