I confess to something of a mad cat moment early on Tuesday morning.
Having vowed not to touch the cardboard box tucked away in the back of the loft full of her toys, I had reason to retrieve it first thing on Tuesday.
Oh dear.
Inside was a flea tablet.
The kittens have fleas.
Double oh dear.
What happened next wasn’t entirely unexpected, but steady the buffers, Jase.
The mad cat is still around us.
I put on my cycling specs to disguise the tears, and cycled off along the Trail. Tights and a cycling gilet were the clothing of choice.
*proper* estuary wilds autumnal weather.
I had to return to the vets at the Hythe ahead of a swim. I haven’t been here since you know when - which also ended up something of a tearful occasion.
The outcome for Tuesday was to return with the kittens the following morning for a freshen up on the flea front. We are hoping to have their first set of jabs completed at the same time.
The swim was splendid. I enjoyed the run of the pool entirely to myself. I thought of swimming a length in each lane, but really couldn’t be arsed.
West Ham Wanker rocked up just as I was rubbing myself down.
Easy, fella.
The conversation was all about “leaden” defenders.
LEADEN.
The remainder of Tuesday was routine: work shifts, odd bits of gardening, and keeping an eye on two flea-infested kittens.
They are becoming impatient to explore the house, having been kept in just one room as they start to settle in. I’m thinking of introducing them to their brave new world after the vet visit tomorrow.
They better not spread fleas to my freshly ironed Fred Perry’s.
Meowww.