And the temper trantrum is over.
Sometimes it just doesn't pay to be female.
I mean - I like being female. But stress coupled with raging hormones sometimes does not mix well.
I've attacked the basement again and was attacked in return.
Lucy ran down there the other night (she's so eager to get away from Smokie that she'll now go through any open door and that's not like her at all) and I think it brought out some fleas from areas I can't get to (such as behind Patrick's excersize equipment and saw).
I vacuumed those fuckers up like the machine was starving.
The salt I sprinkled a few days ago didn't seem to be as effective as the Borax detergent, so I tossed some more of that around. I started a load of towels and will vacuum again when they're done.
I also mopped part of the kitchen floor. Why only part? Lucy and Smokie again. If I don't catch her when she has to go and carry her up to the boxes, she'll pee on the kitchen floor.
My brother is taking that damned cat before I kill it. Really. I came so close to just beating the snot out of him last night that I just had to stand there and not do anything.
Which is not like me at all.
Stress ... hormones ... stress ...
1 comment:
Oh, the dreaded evil pet. I'm sorry. Sometimes it's all you can do to keep your hands clenched at your sides so as not to strangle the beasties. I sincerely hope you can pass along the kitty and get back to normal very, very soon.
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