My cats had fleas. Yep. Mr. Stasaeon and I said, okay, time for some Advantage. So off we go to PetCo to get some of those little locked up packages of flea medicine. Cats are first bathed (because they stunk, too, nothing to do with the fleas), then medicated. We buy a Dyson Animal, because, well, I wanted one and we could. Boy, did that thing ever suck up fleas. Wheee! Off they went to the Dumpster after each vacuum. Everything gets a good washing, and all is well.
The cats just got re-medicated about a week ago, and my trusty Dyson hasn’t been sucking up a single flea for over a month. We are flea-free.
Today, I sit down in front of my laptop, and there. he. is. Standing on the edge of the dining table I keep my laptop on. Rubbing his evil hands together. Laughing.
Super flea.
My Og, he is huge. HUGE. He looks to be about the size of my pinky nail. I shudder. He grins maniacally. I look around frantically for a book or magazine. He throws his head back and laughs.
I feel sick.
He feels triumphant.
I find the television remote, pick it up and smack him. He dies. But I swear I could hear his final words drifting up to me several minutes later from his little world: “You’ll never get us all!”
WTH was that? Who makes fleas that big? Is this the next wave of super-immune pests that will invade our home?
I haven’t seen another one yet. But I feel so itchy. And a little spooked.