In my ongoing battle to rid the cats of fleas (which I still maintain got in when Chuckweasel let not one, but TWO dogs into the apartment), I did something incredibly stupid last night.
I gave Callie Jean a bath.
See, CJ has that big, fluffy, almost water-proof fur (which made Dear Sweet Mama think she was some kind of Turkish Swimming Cat — I can now assure you, SHE IS NOT). What that means is she doesn’t really get BITTEN by the fleas, they just kinda use her like Sigourney Weaver to incubate their eggs in her warm, soft fur. Now that all the cats are wearing flea collars (the getting-on of which was ALSO a treat for me, let me tell you), the ADULT fleas are all dead, but babies keep hatching off Sigourney/Callie, so into the bath she went.
Now, I have a stand up shower stall and a separate bath (I don’t know why, all I know is it’s a good way to get water all over the place). So, being the genius that I am, I took one of those styrofoam coolers like Omaha Steaks come in and set it in the floor of the shower, half-filled with water. I got the shower head down (my first action in any new house is to install one of those shower heads on a hose so you can wash your butt), got the cat shampoo ready, laid down a bunch of towels… then went and got the cat.
She was less than pleased.
Luckily, she took her rage out by clawing the styrofoam cooler and yowling like a banshee… not by removing large quantities of blood from me! And we got it over with fairly quickly, although when I opened the bathroom door, all three little kittehs were out there staring like, “Mommy and Mommy are fighting! Should we take sides?”
I got her all dried off and calmed down, and she finished the job by grooming all over because I had obviously not done her hair right, and I think she’s forgiven me now. One interesting fact, though — no matter how clean you think your cat is, when you wash her in a styrofoam tub it will end up full of disgusting cat slurry that will probably contaminate the groundwater.
Pray this works though… otherwise Ti-Jacques is next and he’s already providing aid and comfort to the enemy (he bites and claws when you go to pick a flea off him). I told him and told him I will not tolerate this counter-insurgent bullshit from him, so now we’re in an uneasy detente… basically a Kiet-Nam. Or maybe Flea-llujah?