It's time to give the cat his monthly flea treatment.
The first time we tried to do it (a mere dab of Frontline between the shoulder blades), he howled so loud and long that I worried our upstairs neighor would think we were strangling the little guy. And for months after, just the merest waft of fleagle treatment was enough to send the clawed beastie scurrying for the cat door. But these last few months, we've had it down to a science: one of us distracts the Monster with pets and treats while the other -- in the next room -- cracks open the dread treatment. Then while the boheamoth's attention is elsewhere, squirt! Another thriving flea metropolis is no more.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Nobody at # 69 likes it either. it must really smell bad!!
puck and brittany love the flea stuff because after the flea stuff is the yummy-yummy heart-guard stuff.
mmm...chewy and delicious meaty flavored med'cine.
Mmmm.
You see, The Beast That Lives in Our House just assumes he's entitled to all the chewy and delicious meat flavor that comes his way, cause and effect be damned.
Someone told me last week that's the difference between cats and dogs: dogs, you feed them, you love them, you take them for walkies, they think you're god. A cat, you feed him, you pet him, you provide him with a loving home, he thinks he's god.
Ours is the old testament kind.
Post a Comment