At least, that's how they'd see it.
However, it's not them.
It's the fleas I found on half of them.
*enter all the saddest panda faces and tiny trombones right here* *along with ickies and shudders and panic stricken faces*
I know that this fall was SUPER AWFUL for fleas and Lulu did have a couple back in the summer, but we treated and moved on, so I shouldn't feel gross or like somehow this is a reflection on my home or my family.
But this, this is brutal. This is a miniature zombie apocalypse happening in my own house.
So far, no people appear to have been bit, and I haven't seen fleas frolicking across my floors or anything -- I just noticed a weird patch of what I thought was lint on one of the white-chested cat's ... chest ... and upon closer inspection discovered it was flea dirt (flea poop) and promptly sequestered her to a bath and a night in the upstairs bathroom. So it's not a Threat Alert Red situation or anything ... but it's bad enough to make me panic about having to bomb the whole house and find a place to stay in the mean time with Kyle's birthday and Thanksgiving and Hanukkah coming up it's just REALLY AWFUL TIMING, UNIVERSE.
I have the itchy heebie jeebies and the cats are all hard core side eyeing me because I'VE BEEN BATHING THEM which, you know, I definitely get irate when they decide I need a bath so I get it and the dogs are just all sad and confused and even poor Sylvester the outside porch cat seemed offended that I cleaned out his little house on the porch.
All of my energy, it is gone.
My patience, too.
I just hope the fleas will take the hint and follow suit before I have a complete mental breakdown.
Or the cats band together and end me.