Back when I was a kid, flea season meant diping the cats. This was something that took the entire afternoon, mainly because we usually had between six to eight adult cats to dip. Mom would mix up this toxic flea shampoo solution in old milk containers (marked with a skull-n-crossbones drawn in permanent marker, of course) and we'd don elbow-length kitchen gloves, old clothes and prepare to be scratched. You have to start with the neck, to keep all the fleas on the body from running up to the face where you can't put as much poison. Then you pour and rub it into the rest of the body, including all four paws, sudsing him up until the cat looks like he's been rolling in whipped cream

All the time, of course, he's yowling and trying to scratch out your eyes so you'll let him go. Even with both Mom and I, the big old tomcats were hard to do. I'd usually sit on their bodies while we did the neck and shoulders, then hold them down with both hands while I scootched around so we could get the rest of them. Not fun to suds a moving paw with unsheathed claws.

I still remember how they'd dart away, then shake themselves and start to lick. I say start, because after one taste they'd get this horrified look on their face and stalk off miserably. It was funny, but also kinda horrible. Cats usually have such dignity.

Why do I reminisce about cat dips long past? I took poor Marzi to the vet this morning. She'd had this growing skin problem, and after giving her a quick bath the other night I finally realized that it was probably fleas. I feel like an idiot for not coming to this conclusion earlier, but I'd been looking for them and couldn't find them; I guess I'm out of practice. It also took me a long time to think to look of them, mainly because we have indoor kittens and they didn't have fleas the last time I took them to the vet. This big old house has big old vents and air ducts and the dog the next apartment over is outside all the time. Ah. So, we get to participate in flea season anyway. Go team!

Anyway, the vet, a nice older man this time, combed Marzi with a flea comb and said, "Yup, bad fleas." I felt like a horrible parent.

These days, you don't have to dip your cat in poison shampoo. These days, they give you this little plastic vial of oily poison that you squirt on the skin just below the neck. The cats get a little greasy spot on the back of their neck that slowly seeps over their entire body. It must work, too, as I've been seeing fleas jumping ship all day long. I'm a bit worried that I should've gotten another two doses, for myself and Tim. So far, we seem ok.

I made the vet look at a couple of sore spots on Marzi, and he took a culture just in case it's something worse. Well, also something worse; we definitely have a flea problem. It'll take a couple weeks to know for sure, and he was pretty sure it was just her reaction to the flea bites, but I worry about her. Poor kitty!

I snuggled her an extra lot today to make up for it. She was really good in the vet's office, too. I have such good kittens.

It's late. Even though I napped earlier, I'm still tired. I did more than the vet today, but I'll have to tell you about it some other time. Or not. Dunno.

G'night.