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Ok, some of you are going to get the previous post twice, due to your feeds. Basically, I was bored, and whiney, and I wrote it, then went off to shower and actually do stuff. Whereupon, I decided it was boring to whine, came back and deleted it. Not soon enough for it to not show up to Laura from Almost Never Boring and Bratfink from Bratland. Both gave me some lovely advice involving fleas, and it’s in the comments of the last post.

Anyways, long story short, the cats have brought fleas into the apartment (this is probably the 3rd time in 4 years it’s happened), the fleas eventually make the move to the rabbit, and all three are happily infested. Then I start getting bit. And with my allergies, I get big, nasty, swollen bites. That itch. A lot.

Last time, when we finally asked the vet about it, they assured us rabbits couldn’t have fleas. Despite treating the cats, and finally bombing the apartment, we didn’t get rid of them. Then Fred the Bunny’s hare started to fall out. Not shedding, falling out. So I took him to a (different) vet, who said he had fleas. We treated all three of them and that was that.

We try hard not to let the cats out, but the Gray One has become a bit of a Houdini lately, trying to escape at every turn, and all it takes is one momma flea on him when we bring him back. He also meows incessantly when the doors are open, which grates on your nerves after a bit. I think he made a friend during one of his longer escapes, but he’s been de-maled, so nothing will come of it. Tubby McFatterson, or the White One, really doesn’t give two figs about being outside. But a couple weeks ago, while we were in the backyard, John let them both out, hoping it would cure the Gray One of his meows. It didn’t. And now there are fleas.

Since Thursday, possibly Wednesday, I’ve discovered 10-15 bites. 7-8 yesterday, but I’ve got several new ones that have popped up in the last few hours, and I don’t realize they’re a bite until I’ve itched it enough to raise the skin a bit, at which point I’m doomed and the bite is off to the races. And the bites are all in fun, socially awkward places. The back of my knee. My lower hip. Right under my bra’s underwire line. My neck.

So Laura has suggested giving the fleas a dip of their own, and Brat has suggested salting them.

Mwahaha!

I’ll report back. In the meantime, if anyone’s got any ideas, I’d love to hear them before we resort to bombing the apartment and generally poisoning the place we and our animals live.

Anyways, other things that I have learned this week that I’ve been meaning to write…

If you boil some test tubes at 110 degrees, and then take them out of the heat rack, they will be at 110 degrees, which is a wee bit warmer than your skin might appreciate. I’m just sayin’.

I have made several new mutant viruses. Or just managed to contaminate everything. I’m suspecting option number 2. (Pick three, my lord, pick three! (Brat, I know you know this one.)) We’ll know by the end of this week.

I’ll be home in less than a week. I’m both excited and terrified. According to Pamela, John’s mom, my mom’s looking good. And Beatrice, John’s grandma, is out of the hospital. More on this later this week, probably. And then we’re off to a wedding. More on that later, too.

Oh, and I’ve got an appointment with a counselor about my snake phobia. I decided it was time to do something about it. I’ll let you know how that goes, too.

Rhiannon’s birthday party last night was actually much more entertaining than I had anticipated. We don’t know a lot of her other friends, so weren’t sure how it would go down, but a Bourban Peach Smash and a Mojito sure made things much more entertaining. Key word there being “smash”. John and assorted others had several pitchers of Hurricanes. It was a fun night. There were some phrases I wanted to remember and report back to y’all, but they’ve been lost in the fuzziness. Oh well. We had a fun dinner, and then graciously bowed out of going to play Guitar Hero at some unknown person’s house.

If you rant about something that might make you sound a bit prejudiced, you might want to check your audience. I’ve got to remember to just keep my damn mouth closed, I think. Scratch that, I know. Or just let go of it already now that the problem child will never return and I’ve almost solved the problem that was left to me.

One of my cloning enzymes (science, sorry) is cutting at a sight it’s not supposed to recognize. And thus deleting 400bp of an essential gene, and not my gene, either. New mutant, anyone? Bah. Freakin’ 5-step cloning process. I hate cloning. But what would a Mad Scientist do without it??

Husbands who get up and go to work at obscene hours of the weekend morning and leave behind a coffeepot with two cups in it are wonderful.

On the other hand, cats who want to nuzzle your cheek and lick your earlobe at said obscene hour of the weekend morning are not so wonderful. Especially when they bring fleas with them.

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