So this Friday, E notices a couple of fleas on Baxter. Dutifully, we vacuum everything and put the stuff on the back of his neck. Baxter’s, not E’s. Because that would be stupid.
Today I was trying to finish Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (which I promise not to talk about until people catch up and finish it) and I looked down at an itch on my arm. Flea! Fark me, it happened four times and I drownded those little buggers and relished their deaths.
I went and bought some spray stuff for the furniture from the pet store, where I was not so much helped as fluttered around by a completely unhelpful salesgirl.
Thinking to fight the flea fight on two fronts, I then went into my local hippie store for some essential oils. I’d heard fleas hate the smell of cedar. After a lengthy discussion with the naturopath saleswoman and another flea-infested customer, I walked away with a custom blend of oils that repels fleas. I put a few drops in some hot water and washed the floors, and stuck some in a diffuser. It might repel fleas (so far two have committed suicide in Baxter’s water dish), but it certainly repels E, whose eyes were stinging and his throat burning.
Time will tell, but I still feel itchy.