HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Just kidding.
Let me tell you about the State of the Apartment over here at the Anna/Snicks compound. Otherwise entitled "The Great Flea Saga of 2015."
You heard me. Fleas.
Now, this time yesterday I would have never, ever posted anything about fleas. I told my mom that I was just going to tell people Snicks had a "skin issue" because I didn't "want people to think we are dirty and never clean." It took Kathy (and Melissa) a while, but they finally made me realize that fleas are a thing that happens.
Let me start from the beginning.
This past weekend I noticed that Snicks had a little bald spot on the back of his neck. I investigated further and saw that he had this scaly white patch that was flaky. Oh no! So I did what any sane person does, and I Googled his symptoms. I decided that he may have mites since he seemed to have all the symptoms of it. Unfortunately, I had graduate classes both Monday and Tuesday nights (they were located IN HELL, but that's for another day) so I couldn't take him till Wednesday. We go to the Best Vet Ever and they basically let me choose my day and time.
|Prior to us finding out what the problem really was.|
So, Wednesday rolls around and I pack Snickers up after school and take him to the vet. Our appointment is scheduled for 4 p.m. When we get there, it is standing room only. And, let's face it, Snickers is super cute and somewhat of a novelty, so many people wanted to talk to me. I had spent 14 hours the previous day around people, and I had been around people all day till that point, so I was on people overload, which is a introvert's nightmare. I honestly had to tell myself DON'T CRY because I just could not handle it. Around 4:45 we get called back to a room. Two vet techs and the vet come in because, no joke, Snicks is super popular around those parts. (If it's not already obvious why, it's because not only is he cute, he's very calm and well behaved.)
The vet looks at his skin problem and at first isn't sure what it is.
"He has fleas."
WHAT the WHAT.
Like how does this even happen? He practically lives in a bubble.
I am not kidding you when I say I sat down and started crying. The vet was like "Are you getting upset?" They were so nice and trying to tell me this is not a big deal, but I was just so overwhelmed and the dam broke. They told me that this is the animal equivalent of a skinned knee. They told me they see so much worse every day. They told me that I caught it super early because I watch him so closely. And they did so much for me. They talked me off the ledge, they told me what to do at my house, they treated Snicks with medicine and combed him, and they told me to drop him off the following day (today) where he could stay all day while I bombed my house.
These people are the real deal.
So I came home last night and refrained from burning my house down. Seriously.
It's a long story, but I don't teach on Thursdays because here in a couple weeks I have to start student teaching (yet another story for another day). God blessed me because today is obviously Thursday and I was able to take half a personal day without requiring my school to get a sub. I got Snicks all packed up, complete with a bagged lunch with his name on it (yep), and dropped him off at the vet at 8 a.m. I then went to the store and got the flea bomb and some flea spray.
There were three bombs in that package, so I used all three. I'm not messing around here. I decided to bomb the hell out of my house. Go big or go home.
I'm not sure what I thought the bomb was going to look like. I think maybe this?
Minus the fairy tale characters and trip to the Enchanted Forest.
Alas, it looked like spray. I hightailed it out of there as per the directions.
I worked the rest of the day, then went home to vacuum before picking up Snickers. I'm not sure what I assumed my house would look like -- I think I was imaging some sort of post-apocalyptic scene with dead bodies everywhere. Or like that scene in "The Craft" where all those bugs are all over the shower? That scene haunts me to this day. (I would have posted it for you here, but I can't find it, so it's your lucky day.)
In reality, it looked like my apartment, just hotter because the air/fans had been off all day.
I did my vacuuming and went to pick up Snickers, where the vet charged me NO DOLLARS for taking care of him all day. I love these people.
I brought him back home -- flea free (please God) -- and proceeded to spend the subsequent four hours cleaning everything. Vacuuming, washing, bleaching. The positive here is that my house has never been so clean. It's usually clean, but this is like for real clean, like sweeping under the couch and stuff. The biggest pain in the rear has been washing so much stuff. Washers go faster than dryers because they are from the devil, and that helps no one.
In the event this ever happens to you, you really only need two supplies to help yourself out. The first is a package of flea bombs. The second is alcohol. No, not the rubbing kind. The drinking kind. That part's for you. That's how we handle fleas in this house.
Also, I feel pretty terrible because the only real promise I ever made Baby S is that no one is trying to eat him. Whoops.
|This is the face of someone who has suffered so many indignities over the past couple of days he may never bounce back.|
At any rate, I've been ordered to vacuum twice a day and put flea treatment on Snicks monthly. Done and done. I just pray to the dear Lord God in Heaven that this never happens again. I cannot even deal.
So, I hope you have enjoyed my transparency and honesty about what is going on up in herrr. I hope this never happens to you, but if it does, know that I am here to offer moral support. I'll bring the wine.
And please remember that if you think you've had a bad day, Snicks has had fleas pooping on his head for who knows how long. Puts things into perspective doesn't it?