Argh!

I think the children’s beloved cats have organized a mutiny, and they’ve got the fleas in on it.

Let me go back a little farther.

We have fleas. I thought I had annihilated them all with the small arsenal of almost nuclear weapons that I unleashed on them, but Dog One and Dog Two have come back for a visit and fleas have again been spotted. These new fleas appear to be of the juvenile persuasion (teenagers I think), so they are not thought to have survived the original blast, however their continued presence in my life is causing me a great deal of consternation. I have flea nightmares, I have phantom fleas crawling on me at all times, and I imagine flea parties occurring in my carpets without my knowledge. I don’t fear bugs, but I fear the fleas. They don’t leave, they have

nothing to do all day but go forth and multiply, and they’re too fast to swat, slap, or smash properly. I imagine if I were to be the sort of person who lived alone in an apartment and it were just me and the fleas, were I to die the fleas would band together and carry my body off somewhere for their own use. And usually that's the part of the flea nightmare that ends with me being stuffed into a giant cannon at the flea circus...

***Can I interrupt for a moment here? I'm sitting at my computer desk and I just happened to look at the back of a brochure from work (remnant from preparing for last month's staff meeting), and I just saw the faint pencil marks of the word "uterus" written across the back in all capital letters. It takes me only the briefest second of hesitation before I realize with relief that ahh yes, this is a word written by Him, and it makes me smile. This was done while he was making my birthday card (8 days late).

Who else in the world is lucky enough to have a birthday card made for them by the Best Guy Ever, complete with the anatomically correct drawing of a uterus?!***

Now back to the mutiny...

The cats are apparently not happy that Dog One and Dog Two have been visiting, and that Boo and Baby have also decided that, much like their mother, they prefer the company of dogs to cats. It's not that the cats have been neglected or mistreated in any way while the dogs have been here, it's just that the dogs have been more fun. Maybe we should have done a better job of hiding our glee at having dogs in the house when the cats are around, and maybe we should not have looked at the cats reproachfully and referred to them as "those things". In any event, the behavior of the cats has been downright disgraceful.

Codysaurus Rex made a poopie on my 401K statement.

He looked right at me when he did it, and I know he did it with malice in his kitty heart. He didn't stop there either, Codysaurus Rex has poopied in undesignated pooping areas three more times since the 401K incident. I also have it on good authority that Cody has organized the remaining fleas and pointed the dogs out to them, so that the dogs are mercilessly attacked immediately upon entry into our domicile.

Whatever can be done with Codysaurus Rex?

And that's all that I have to say about that.

I'm grateful that Best Guy Ever has left behind his carpet shampooer, even if it does leave telltale clean spots on the rug; that the mutinous cats are at least no longer pooing on the stairs so that Lunaboo steps in it, flings it onto the wall, walks down the stairs, and then wipes her foot on a white towel (all for Best Guy Ever to clean up so I don't run late for work); that Best Guy Ever is the Best Guy Ever, and that Sara the Dirty Smelly Pirate Hooker has slapped sense into me once again. Life is GREAT.