Summer is always difficult for the cats. No matter how diligent we are about vacuuming and spraying, some fleas always make their way into the house. This means that flea combing becomes at least a twice daily ritual. They hate it. We hate it. The fleas hate it. Fairly much, it's the worse time of the day for everyone. It has to happen though, otherwise the fleas just become impossible.
When it's hot, the cats are hot and don't want to be touched. However, because they're house cats and used to being petted and held and such things, they start to go a little nutty when this isn't happening. Rhiannon is especially bad about losing her mind during the summer. She'll walk around the house and make say little noises . . . and then run away when you get too close.
So along with snatching them up to get their combing, summer means we have to snatch them up to just hold them. Whenever my roommate gets finished combing Rhiannon, she'll be passed over to me so I can hold her and talk to her soothingly for a minute or so (before she runs away). It's the best we can do until it starts to cool down again and her three sane brain cells come back from vacation.
The last couple of days have been about ten degrees cooler than it has been. Because of this, Rhiannon has resumed her habit of sleeping on me at night. In a way, this is good. It means she has more human contact and perhaps won't go as crazy as she usually does. On the other hand, I know there may be a flea or two lurking on her, which means while she's on me, I have some major fleabejeebies going on.
I guess the only good thing about the 'flea' part of summer is that it makes me look forward to the really hellishly hot part of summer because by that time, the fleas will be gone. They're smart enough to go away when it's too hot, unlike the rest of us who just sit in the house and wait for Fall.
No comments:
Post a Comment