Fleas and Mice

Monday was a test of some kind.

Upon waking at 6 to roust elder daughter out of bed, I found several tiny, itchy bites in a line on my abdomen. With a sinking feeling, I identified the red bumps as fleabites. I wish I could say I hadn't experienced this plague before but I well know the telltale signs. That learning curve occurred 15 years ago in my first apartment on the West Coast where the previous tenants had had cats and lots and lots of fleas. The place was literally hopping with them. Much fun was not had, but I eventually got rid of them.

I hoped I would never again have to deal with the little blood-sucking monsters.

I am in love with my dog. I mean, I frequently find myself using that high pitched idiot voice that I have in the past despised in others, mistakenly assuming the individual in question was clearly witless: being that ridiculous around his or her dog?? But I do it; I coo at him and play with him and cuddle him and this is a 50 pound pooch with long claws.

Now Pooch has fleas and, unfortunately, shared them with his family. This means war of the most dedicated kind because I won't use those toxic bombs - they are more toxic to the people than they are to the increasingly chemical-resistant fleas. So, this means treating Pooch with strong-smelling herbal flea killing stuff, washing EVERYTHING that he may have come in contact with in the last 2 weeks, vacuuming every day and making sure there is nothing on the floor anywhere. Then I must repeat all previous steps often for the foreseeable future: flea eggs can last a long time. I must bag everything and quarantine things for weeks. Then, only when I have seen no signs of fleas for three weeks can I relax. Truly maddening, eh?

As I thought about all I would have to do when I got home, I got ready to take my fabulous four-month-old hybrid car into Local Dealership to find out why the engine light kept coming on. I figured some sensor was loose and that it would be a minor issue. So it was to my complete and utter shock when Mr. Mechanic came to get me from the waiting room where I had been perusing issues of Good Housekeeping and told me that a MOUSE had been nesting in my car and that it would take at least five hours of exploration (at 90 bucks an hour) before they would even know what damage the little miscreant had caused. I was incredulous. They had to be kidding, right? This was clearly an elaborate joke.

Nope on all counts. Although infrequent, it happens often enough, particularly at this Fall kind of time of year when the little buggers go looking for some shelter. It was with sheer force of will that I resisted flinging myself to the floor and howling "It's not fair!!" As if, I have said to my children, THAT will do any good! So, if you can, park your cars inside during this season. And watch out for mice. And fleas.

I have to go vacuum.