It took me nearly two days to regain composure after hearing that it’s time for me to head to the vet again. Thank goodness it did not affect my appetite. Anyway, I am almost over the feeling of dread about that finally. THEN, yesterday morning, the one they call Mom thought she spotted a flea-on ME no less. Thank you, smelly old dog who has to go outside 30 times a day. You go outside and I somehow get the blame for the flea. I’m sure it wasn’t really a flea, but do they ever listen me? Yeah, right. Spring is here in Ohio-and out comes the first dose of flea medicine since November. Who gets it first? Better yet, who do they catch first? Yep. The fat cat. Everybody always picks on the fat cat. If there is anything that I dislike as much as going outside—it’s this flea stuff. First they have to hold me down. Degrading. Then, there is always some “I can’t find his shoulder blades, can you?” line of hardy har hars. Oh, yeah, the humans are a riot. At least, when I’m finished (passively, of course), I get to watch them try to put it on Lea. She is a complete psychotic. All of those forgotten, wild, outside cat characteristics come out. She becomes the little fireball of claws and teeth that we met and originally voted to throw back outside. I wished for popcorn. Now, this scene is a riot. Lea is about 8 pounds and they can’t do a thing with her. Later today, they’ll spot Gina and I’ll hang out to watch another show. Gina has agression issues. But, I’ll talk about that later. Fleas. On ME? Please.

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