Bug Bombing
After having fleas in the house for the better part of a year, it finally seemed like a good idea to do something about it. Sure we put our best efforts into it before, bathing the cats bi-weekly then throwing them back into the flea infested home, but believe it or not those lil tykes gathered up more fleas!
Mother and I put the tiny harbingers of death all through the house, put the cats in one room with a towel blocking the bottom opening of the door, then went outside to let our scale model of Auschwitz do its thing. You animal loving people out there, I know the cat part probably upsets you a little but our options were to put them in a room or take them outside with the busy road. Both choices can kill a cat but the room leaves a smaller mess to clean. And they’re fine anyway so put your hand crafted anger signs down and stop circling my house.
Two hours pass as directed so mother goes in first to open windows and turn fans on. I go in next and there’s mom in her room, arms out to the sides double fisting bug bomb cans, wobbling back and forth saying she can’t feel her legs. To someone with no knowledge of what went on today it would look like she popped the caps off of both cans and fired them off into her face, breathing deep the sweet fumes of a better life. “You need to go outside” I said as I ushered her to the top of the steps where she sat down and scooted her way to the bottom in a motion similar to a dog rubbing his ass on your carpet. She tried to make sentences work, and they eventually did, but there was laughter and distracted thought scattered throughout.
She’s probably fine now. At least fine enough to use most of the words she learned in her lifetime. It’s probably not a big deal that she’s rapidly balding and demands that I explain why her knee caps are itchy.
