Fleas have struck our house. Munchkin has infested Tiger, the couch, bed, carpets, clothes, cat houses and everything in between.

Suddenly it has dawned on me that taking her outside for walks really isn’t fun.

We spent the better part of the day doing some major anti-flea bombing. From spraying, to vacuuming, to tricking the cats to eat pills that are hidden in a treat. Oh, and washing any clothing/sheets they may or may not have had contact with in the past bajillion years. Well, not quite, but sure feels that way.
Die, you little bastards! Ugh.

I feel so itchy, and even though I know they aren’t biting me I can’t help it. Ick ick ick ick! Stupid parasites!

Worse thing of all, is that we have 2 weeks to completely destroy every single one of those things, and their eggs so that we don’t bring them over to the new place to set up camp there as well.

As for Munchy? She is eyeing the door for her next chance to escape outside for a stroll. Revenge may be on her mind, but the next time she is going out that door is when she’s being carried to the car on moving day. And then she will be locked inside our new home forever. For-freaking-ever.

Now excuse me while I go scratch myself to death.