Back on the front lines of the Great Flea War, yesterday I sprayed flea spray in the bedroom (and locked the cats out, of course)… and then I may have gone too far. I found this hypoallergenic flea spray that you spray ON the cats… and I did it.
The worst part (from my point of view and probably theirs as well) was that after you sprayed the cat and rubbed the stuff in, you had to wait TEN MINUTES before drying the cat off with a towel. That adds up to FORTY minutes of me with my hands full of extremely displeased cat! The only escapee was Callie Jean (of course!) — who got loose and ran around and around the living room like a house afire, but luckily, the bedroom was shut up, remember, so she had no place to hide and I eventually caught her. Whereupon she kicked me so hard I not only have bloody claw-pokes, I have BRUISES. She’s a brawler, that one.
Fortunately, no one seemed to have any adverse side effects to the spray, except of course Callie Jean being EVEN MORE pissed than she was after the bath, and Mina acting crazier than usual with her staring-at-shit-I-can’t-see routine. Ti-Jacques did throw up, but I think that was because he licked the bleu cheese dressing off my salad. Yeah, he’s weird. He also likes to put his wee paws on your lips if you’re talking while he’s sleeping… like “shhhhh, I’s SEEPY.”
And Marceau’s a drag queen.
Yep, it’s totally my fault for naming him Marceau Jerome, and it’s his lifestyle and I support it. However, I do NOT appreciate him constantly stealing my razors and carrying them around the house… nor stealing the tea light candles out of their holders and “redecorating.” But the WORST thing he’s done is this: A while ago, he knocked my blush off the counter and a little piece broke out, you know how it does. So I never COULD find the piece…
Cut to this weekend, when Marceau comes trotting jauntily through the living room with his paws and face BRIGHT red. I immediately flipped the fuck out, thinking it was blood, but as I was wiping him with a warm washcloth, looking for the wounds, I began to notice the “blood” was not red… so much as it was… PINK…
Yes, that little psycho has hidden that piece of blush somewhere AND IS USING IT HIMSELF. I guess it’s good that he’s using it CORRECTLY, but I’m locking up the eyeliner from now on. You’re not supposed to share makeup, Marceau, one of us is gonna get the pinkeye.