S) There's no fleas on me

Wednesday 21st August 2002.

I have been de-fleaed at the measly cost of ?62. Sixty-two sodding quid
for three months of that flea program stuff for both the cat and the
dog and some flea powder to kill the existing ones. I made a valiant
effort to de-flea them. Okay the dog wasn't too bad, but it was scary
stuff and when Kali is scared she wants to cuddle, but the cat! Oh my
God I am white I don't know how much I got on the dog and the cat, but
I'm well de-fleaed.

The poor cat was in a terrible state when I got home at lunchtime. Kali
had been sick poor love. In fact I feel so very, very sorry for her
that I could take her warmly by the throat and squeeze tightly. Not
only had she been sick all over my bed and believe me that's sin
enough.

"Who me mum, I haven't been on your bed, Not allowed on your bed Mum.
No siree boss not me. No way, no how."

Nope not only had she vomited all over my bed&;#8230; Laura Ashley
'Lemon seranade' (actually that's crap it's fifteen quid 'What Everyone
Wants' special offer yellow bog standard bedding. But you've got to
admit it would be a great and accomplished sin to puke on Laura
Ashley)

But she'd also puked liberally all over the cat. Given that Max had a
couple of hours to sit in a stiffening sun afterwards he was a pretty
pathetic sight when he came yowling his indignity towards me as I
walked through the door. The dog was by this point cowering under the
dining table and grinning. She grins when she's nervous.

Now I may have mentioned that I'm horrendously ematophobic. If I
haven't already mentioned it, then it's a wonder. I do many things but
I don't 'do' vomit.

After briefly surveying the undigested carnage. Locking the cat out,
pacifying the dog and trying not to inhale, I shut the bedroom door on
the nightmare and sat down stairs trembling and breathing hard. At this
point I forgot about the trying not to inhale because of the smell bit
and concentrating only on not adding my own contribution to the smell.
I wracked my brains thinking furiously.

Who the hell could I get to clean up the mess &;#8230; and the
cat!

I've always had a man for such things. Although both Tat and Tim were
bloody useless, they did at least understand my reticence around the
whole vomit issue. Even Mark bless him has learned to clean up after
himself. What was I going to do?

I needed a fag.

I always think more clearly when I've got a fag.

C likes me and he's kind, perhaps he would come out of work in
Blackpool and drive through to clean it up for me. It would only take
him a couple of hours to get here, not even that if he hurried. He's in
court today getting a removal order on an abused child, but what is
that in comparison to my house disappearing with me inside it under a
pool of smouldering vomit? Surely even the judge would understand my
plight and insist that he hurry here.

Nice fantasy, but in the end there was only one option, I had to sort
it myself. Come on I'm a grown-up I can do this.

No I can't

I went into the bedroom quietly, on tiptoe, mustn't disturb the monster
vomit, it might attack. I'm sweating, trembling, balking. The sun had
been pouring in through my bedroom window, sun is nice, sun is good,
vomit is warm, and ripe and smelly.

I can not do this. What does one do? Scrape off the lumps first or try
and get cover off quilt first. I am vomit inept.

In the end I decided there was only one available course of action. I
folded the quilt in on itself, careful to touch it as little as
possible. Got a bin bag, chucked the quilt, quilt cover and sheet into
it and threw the lot in the dustbin. I scrubbed the mattress with
bleach and then turned it put pillowcases in wash that hadn't been
touched. Threw pillows that hadn't been splattered, but must surely be
contaminated, in bin along with other bedding and went out shopping. I
bought new bedding pillows duvet and net curtain for lounge
window.

See I can do this.

But that only solved half the problem, I still had an indignant, smelly
punk cat mewling pitifully from the back yard. Now what? I sat again
craving nicotine and wondering seriously if I could tie the kitten in a
black bin bag and put him in the dustbin too, so solving the
problem.

In the end I decided love could overcome vomit &;#8230; maybe.

Have you ever tried to bath a terrified cat? He may be young but he's
got tiger claws and teeth. My first problem was working out how to bath
a cat while not actually touching any part of it. I decided on
psychokenisis. I glared intently at cat while cat glared intently back.
The idea was that if I concentrated hard enough he would float into
sink and sit meekly while taps and washing up liquid went to work. It
would have worked too if the need for a bloody cigarette hadn't kept
invading my concentration.

I got some work gloves from the car there was no choice but to get in
there and get my hands dirty. Bathing a cat is hard, bathing a cat in
latex gloves is harder. We did it. By the time I had dried the cat and
de-fleaed all three of us, me by association, I felt that like the
conquering hero home from the war.

How do I cope with vomit at work you ask?

Don't ask.

The cat was traumatised, I was traumatised and Kali decided it might be
prudent to slink back under the table and grin out appealingly.

The need for a cigarette is down to a dull roar now.