Wednesday, 26 August 2015

To Flee or Not to Flee

So yesterday we woke up and the dog had a bald patch right by his tail. I took him to the vet and they found a solitary flea. (This is despite all the pets using the vet approved flea combo treatment). It turns out that although the flea liked our dog, our dog is allergic to flea bites. And because of this weird weather we’ve been having, the traditional treatment or ‘Spot On’ is ineffective. I left with my wallet considerably lighter, and him on antibiotics and a massive tablet to get rid of the flea, plus an enormous house spray for all the other friends that this flea may or may not have brought in. Before I left, the vet asked me to bring in the cats so that she could check them over, and if they also had little friends she would give me a tablet each for them. 

‘Tablets?’ I said feebly – ‘Can we not just have the much stronger Spot On that you recommended?’  I agreed on the proviso that she would administer the tablets as I know what hissing scratching fighters these fluffy balls of fur become, and she said confidently that she had a very good success rate with the most stubborn of cats.

Today it poured down.  I drove back from work through 8 rivers that had materialized on the roads over the course of 4 hours.  Cars were aquaplaning, breakdown vehicles were scattered throughout various points of my journey and several times the whole car was submerged in splash backs from the puddles I was in, or cars travelling in the other lane. Cars were abandoned in side streets where rushing water hurtled against closed garage doors. My 4 x 4 inched slowly down our unmade road, where even the potholes were submerged under a muddy stream.

I had lined up G to help me with the cats, who fought, legs spatchcocked as they were posted into their cat boxes which were popped into the car as they continued mewling furiously at the tops of their voices. Suddenly there was an overwhelming smell of cat poo – the boy cat had messed himself in distress.  We carried the cat poo smelling box and grumpy cats into the vets.  Two greyhounds shuddered dismally as we entered and huddled together looking at the boy cat’s box in suspicion. A poodle jumped joyously at the girl cat’s box until she spat at his eager face.  This was not going to be easy.

The vet took the girl cat out of the box.  She is a lap cat, an absolute doll and the easier to handle of the pair. She was a dead cert. ‘Ahhh’, cooed the vet, and reached for the tablet whilst telling G to hold the cat firmly by the shoulders.  Two broken tablet feeders later, the vet and G stood there bleeding from scratches, whilst Lap Cat hissed silently, mouth clamped firmly tight. Boy cat, who is a very gentle natured sun lover, but doesn’t tolerate too much handling, came out of his box which was speedily despatched to be cleaned up as she attempted to check him over.  He was having none of it, the indignity of his situation was just too much.  He sank his claws into her arm.

We went home with the stronger Spot On which is applied to the back of their necks and kills everything bug related.  The vet agreed that it was a much better idea after all.  Peace amongst the felines has resumed.

So now I am seriously thinking of buying an Ark, where we and the animals can live in case these floods get worse.  But there’ll be one creature in God’s world which won’t be on that boat. 



I’ve got enough spray to make them all flee…