The Dingo takes her flea, tick and heartworm meds like a dog; she just eats them. The back of the neck stuff doesn’t bother her.
The cat on the other hand.
If she hears me opening the package, her eyes widen. If she sees me looking her way shortly after, she bolts. I have to be very stealthy.
Thankfully we haven’t had much of a flea problem so far this year. I haven’t had to treat the cat in a long time. The Dingo gets her monthly meds, but the cat, meh. If I find flea evidence on her, I’ll treat her.
Weez, however, said something was biting her in her bed recently. I chalked it up to either mosquitoes and / or fleas. She mentioned bedbugs; I envisioned burning down the house.
No, it isn’t bedbugs.
Considering we do have pets, the neighbors have pets, we live in Florida and have bugs all year and we volunteer at a dog rescue, it’s more than likely fleas. Odd I wasn’t being bitten because both animals sleep in my bed. I did, however, find the sneakers Weez wears to the rescue in her room, right by her bed. So, yeah, fleas most assuredly were in her bed.
I washed her sheets and blankets the next day.
While they were in the washing cycle, I gave the dog her meds and prepared the tube for the cat. I wondered if she heard me. Entering Weez’s room where the cat was resting, she looked alert, but not alarmed.
I faked interest in the freshly washed blankets while at the same time calmly cooing to the cat. Her eyes softened. I gave her a pet and gently got into position to apply her treatment.
Immediately upon me holding her more firmly, she knew what was up and tensed. By then, though, it was too late. I was done; fast like a ninja. The back of her neck was soaked with what might as well be acid to her.
She glared at me offended and horrified, “You tricked me! I trusted you! How dare you!”
“Good kitty. Good girl.”
I exited the room. Walking past it moments later, the cat was gone; hiding somewhere, pouting, I’m sure.