We staged our most aggressive attack today in waging The Battle of the Flea. Edgar and I walked over to our friendly Wal-Mart (here is where I totally take back my previous bashing of the Wal-Mart; I hadn't been in this one before and DAMN was it nice!) and picked up Adams Water-Based Flea & Tick Mist as well as Enforcer Flea Spray for Carpets and Furniture.
When we got home, Edgar sprayed the carpets and furniture while I kept the cat quarantined in the bathroom. The back of the spray can has all these warnings about not breathing the spray in, but they don't tell you why. WHAT COULD HAPPEN HERE? I've decided that we are going to have to put off trying to have a baby for an additional month in order to avoid growing one with extra limbs. Edgar covered his mouth and nose with his shirt while he was spraying, and I was in the bathroom with the cat, but I'm worried that some of it may have gotten in his system and his sperm are now toxic. I'd like to avoid the toxic sperm during the baby-making process. Not too much to ask, I assume? We kept the windows open during this whole process, so I'm hoping that at least provided enough air flow to keep it from hanging around too much.
The next step was misting the cat. He was not pleased, and Edgar and I have multiple scratches and lacerations to show for it. We tried to follow the directions on the back of the bottle, I promise. The first thing you are supposed to do is cover the cat's eyes and quickly and decisively spray his head and chest, then rub the product into his face. I think that I sprayed way too much when doing the chest spray, because while we were struggling with the rest of his body and trying to keep ourselves from bleeding out there were these thick ropes of bubbly drool coming out of his mouth. Like a rabid dog. Have you ever seen a cat drool? I DIDN'T THINK SO. Something was not right here.
So I was freaking the hell out, totally losing my mind, absolutely sure that he was going to die. I still am. No matter how much I wiped away, when we would move on to the rest of his body, it would start again. He wasn't freaking out about it, though, which I find kind of weird. He was only freaking out whenever we would spray his body again, recoiling at the mist hitting his fur.
We were supposed to wait five minutes after we sprayed him to dry him off and brush him. I was waiting in the bathroom with him, wanting to keep an eye on him in case he started foaming at the mouth again and convulsing. However, the chemicals in the air started to make me feel dizzy, so I had to go wait outside the apartment door for a few minutes to regain my head. Which is probably another reason why we should wait for a new egg in my cycle before trying to have a baby. The one that's floundering out there right now is probably drunkenly stumbling around one of my fallopian tubes wondering where the party is at.
Once I was able to come back in, I immediately googled the Adams mist to see if it can cause any adverse reactions in pets. I didn't find any horror stories in the first 10 pages of my Google search, so I have to assume that he's not going to die from the amount that had clearly gotten in his mouth to cause all of that drooling. Since the directions say to wait five minutes before towel drying the animal, and animals, by nature, can't go 5 minutes without licking themselves, I can only think that it can't be toxic for that reason alone. The manufacturers would know that animals would lick their fur and therefore get the product in their mouths. Right? RIGHT?
Edgar started vacuuming the apartment not long ago to pick up the hopefully dead fleas that the carpet and furniture spray should have rendered helpless, and as soon as he heard the vacuum, Fiyero immediately ran into the kitchen and got up on top of the cabinets, which is totally his thing. So he's still acting normally. But I'm still really worried about him. We already had plans today to leave this afternoon and head up to Simi Valley to visit my aunt, uncle, and cousins that live there. We have a yearly tradition of visiting this restaurant in Ventura for Octoberfest, and the plans were made weeks ago. I'm scared to leave him; I'm picturing coming home tomorrow and finding him dead from toxic poisoning from this flea spray, and he'll be alone during the whole horrifying death experience for what? For me to drink Spaten Oktoberfest and eat bratwurst while watching a 65 year old man wearing shorts and liederhosen dance around playing the accordian while teaching us German drinking cheers?
I can only hope that when we come back tomorrow I will be greated with a pile of shit on the bathroom floor and a hairball in the living room, as is his usual punishment for us to be ever so insolent as to leave him alone overnight. Let's pray for shit and hairballs, people.
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