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Aug. 13th, 2007

epiphone, guitar, no strings

Good, Bad, Ugly: weekend recap edition

The ugly: we spent the entire weekend obsessing over fleas. In 8.67 years of living with multiple cats, they have never had fleas. Admittedly, our cats have been outside (on leashes) more lately than ever but I also think the flea population must be larger this year, probably due to the heat.

Anyway, we'd "treated" the cats with some over-the-counter Hartz crap a few weeks ago, but it obviously didn't do a thing. Meanwhile, the problem was getting worse. I've been busy with work so I couldn't do much about it myself and had been trying to be patient since I knew Karsten was already dealing with the rat problem in our back yard and I didn't want to overwhelm him. Besides, he seemed confident that the Hartz stuff would work and that the fleas were minimal anyway. On the contrary, it seemed to me that if you spot one, you can assume there are dozens/hundreds/howeverthehellmany you can't see. I regularly noticed fleas on the cats, so I printed out web pages with tips on killing fleas and left them on his keyboard. I suggested he just call an exterminator and get it over with but when he did, he only asked about the rats. He just didn't seem to feel as much urgency as I did about having to coexist with the fleas. It was all starting to freak me out a little. Last week, when I stood in the cat room and could see the fleas jumping around, I had a major meltdown. Karsten felt bad for not realizing how upset I'd been getting about it, but I assured him that everything would be fine it we could just rid the house of fleas. So he picked up the Advantage flea treatment from the vet on Friday and we started treating the cats first thing Saturday morning.

Each cat had to be isolated so they wouldn't lick the stuff off of each other, which meant that we could only treat three cats at a time: two of them were stuck in cages while a third got to be loose, but stuck inside a closed-off room. Meanwhile, we vacuumed the house, sprinkled boric acid powder on all the carpets and fabric surfaces and used a broom to push it down into the fibers, and washed the curtains and bedclothes in the hottest water and dried them in the hottest drier they could withstand.

By mid-day Saturday, there were dead and dying fleas all over the house. So I went around and vacuumed everything again yesterday, but they're still dropping off. It's gross, but it means the treatment is working, so I'll take it.

The bad: it was miserably hot outside. I mean it. Hot. It was 104 yesterday. It makes me feel like I'm melting. And since we wanted to escape the house once we got through each day's flea treatment, we were limited in our options.

Though actually, that didn't go too badly: we ended up going to see a movie ("Becoming Jane"; it was OK), eating out for every meal (all the food was great), thrift shopping (I found some cute stuff), and hanging out with some songwriting friends who were visiting from Chicago (which was fun).

So I guess the bad was really just that every time we stepped outside, we felt like we were about to melt into flesh puddles.

The good: even in my jangled state of mind, I wrote a few songs. Hanging around songwriters last night got me all fired up. When we got home, I dashed off two songs in fifteen minutes along with a few other ideas I'll come back to eventually. One of the reasons I was so inspired was that, although the songs our friends were playing last night were written well and were enjoyable, they were so consistently about relationships ending badly that I felt double-dog-dared to write a heartfelt song that wasn't about that. So I did.

Jun. 11th, 2004

sad face, baby clyde, sorry

RIP Honey-dog

My parents had to euthanize their dog, Honey. She was having a difficult time standing, couldn't poop or anything, so they took her into the vet and he found several tumors on her abdomen in addition to the ones they knew were on her head. So they said their goodbyes and let her go.

I wasn't too upset when they called Wednesday night to share the news because she was somewhere around 21 years old and had led such a good life that letting her go peacefully now seemed like absolutely the right thing to do. But I thought her several times yesterday and last night, and how weird it'll be next time I visit my parents not to see her there.

Honey (or Honey-dog, as I called her when we'd play) was the sweetest dog I've ever known. Gentle nearly to a fault, playful even in her elderly age, incredibly loving and affectionate, and she was one of my dear friends. I loved her, I loved play-fighting with her, and my parents' house will never seem the same without her. Rest in peace, Honey-dog.
hand on head - b&w

February 2011

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