… I could have put the bedsheets in the dryer that isn’t working. Y’know, the one I had my towels and clean clothes in. The one that just ate $1.50 in quarters. Oh well, that’s why I’m glad we have two dryers — they only seem to break down one at a time, and this way I get to go to sleep as the other dryer dries what the first dryer was supposed to.

I’m going to sleep on my clean, clean, clean sheets.

(After I shower).

I’m beat.

Work ran late tonight — it was steady most of the night, then dropped off, then we got a late hit. It kept me and the late driver out on the road so long that by the time we got back and were able to start our late/closing chores, the store had been closed for near sixty-minutes. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not complaining, my last three deliveries netted me $25 in tips, and that’s enough to keep my gas tank full for half a week.

However … I would have liked to have been out by ten tonight. This is especially problematic seeing as how my plans for tomorrow got ruined by Sketchy’s car trouble. See, I fumigated today, and need to have my apartment cleaned and cat-friendly by tomorrow afternoon when I pick up the cats. They’re spending the night at the animal hospital and are, I suspect, going to be rather unhappy with me tomorrow.

I do have a plan, but that calls for me to convince Mark to drive and Sketchy to work inside. I don’t think that’s a problem, it’s just that Gary isn’t working, and I don’t think James would care to work inside with Sketchy — primarily a driver — and the new guy. We’ll see.

In any case, my plan was to do some light cleaning tonight, then bust everything out tomorrow. Well, what with now needing to work tomorrow afternoon, I’ve been busting my butt trying to get as much cleaning done tonight as I possibly can. I think these forced situations are good for me, though — procrastination, thy name is Snay.

I had mostly finished cleaning the kitchen before I left for work tonight (er, yesterday night). Returning home (close to a quarter of midnight — had a dog to walk & all) I finished that up, ran the dishes through the washer, and cleaned the living and dining rooms. The foggers (I used all three - one each in the bedrooms, and one for the lr, dr and kitchen) didn’t leave as much of a mess as I’d been expecting, but I took the precaution of cleaning each shelf with … eh, whatever cleaner I had at hand. Orange something or other.

The kitchen table is at the moment a bit stuffed with “stuff” … instead of trying to put away all the coins, nick-nacks, odds & ends and assorted other stuff I found while cleaning, I figured it’d be faster to sort through all of that tomorrow at some point. I did two loads of laundry — clothes in one, bedsheets in the other. Once I fold them, I think I’ll call it quits for tonight — I’m absolutely beat.

Tomorrow I have to clean the bedroom, the den (really, the larger bedroom), and the bathroom. I’m hoping to get one of those done before work, but it’ll probably be before 4 before I get to sleep and I have to be up at 10:30ish at the latest if I’m going to walk the dog before work (and I want to). I should still have about two hours to clean in the afternoon before I have to pick the cats up (I have to pick them up by six at the latest, but I work at five, so I’ll shoot for getting them around four).

It occurs to me that if worst comes to worst, I can close off either of the two bedrooms from feline access. So tomorrow I’ll start my cleaning with the bathroom, then aim for the bedroom then the den. The cats put up a fight if they’re locked out of the bedroom — I don’t know why, but it could be because they like sleeping on the dirty clothes hamper. They’re going to be out of luck — I’m going to bag my dirty clothes in plastic bags until I have the opportunity to wash them. Reminds me — I need to get stuff to the dry cleaner…

I don’t know what is exhausting me more — cleaning up from this nuclear option, or the realization that if I don’t do it again in three weeks, this will all have been for naught?

As curious as I am to know if I could get my cats to use the toilet as opposed to the litter box (it would free up a lot of bathroom floor space) — with this device — the problem is … I only have one bathroom in the first place, and I don’t want to have to move the cat’s “seat trainer box” every time I need to use the toilet, y’know?

(Particularly because I just know that one night I’d get food poisoning from a poorly prepared order of General Tso’s chicken and I’d be rushing to get on the toilet at three in the morning’ and forget the “toilet box” was there until I’m sitting in it wondering what these harsh-rock-like things were doing stuck to my ass. Plus, with my luck, the cats would be trying to use it then too, and they’d wind up peeing on the floor.)

HT: He Who Has Become a Blog Whore.

So I mentioned the cats have fleas.

They first got fleas about three years ago. On my vet’s advice, I treated them with Frontline, then did a thorough cleaning job of my apartment - every surface got cloroxed then a wipe down. The carpet, cushions, and mattress got hit with the vacuum. I even used some off-the-shelf flea spray to help in my efforts.

I don’t think the cleaning or the vacuuming played as much a role in keeping the fleas away as the Frontline did. Frontline is a great medication which spreads across your pet’s body and kills fleas on contact. When fleas want to feed, they’ve got to get on your cat (or dog) … and when they do - poof! They’re dead!

Well, in looking up Frontline on-line (it’s close to one hundred dollars for a six month supply at the vets, but nearly half-that at this online site) I also heard about something called “DE” or “Diatomaceous Earth.”

I have to admit that at first I thought it was similar to those commericals you see on late night tv - y’know, “Organic compounds destined to make you live longer!” What’s the one - I think it was for some sort of coral powder that if you drank it made you Superman overnight? They commercial — y’know, the hour long one — was in the format of a talk-show, and the host is the same guy who always does these things. “Wow! This is so incredible!” Bleh.

Anyway, turns out D.E. is an ingredient in flea powder. So, after spending Monday walking around my apartment in socks and sneakers because I was getting bit to hell when I didn’t, I went down to the PetCo on York Road Tuesday morning and bought two containers of flea powder. I worked all day — which was a nice relief from the fleas — and upon return I moved as much stuff as I could off the carpet, moved as much furniture as I could, and coated as much carpet with flea powder as possible.

The instructions say to leave the powder on the floor for 24 hours, then vacuum it up. It also has a nice wintergreen scent that resembles that of the cheapest air freshener you can possibly buy — truthfully, my apartment now smells like a bleached hospital room.

I also found some left-over Frontline from the fall, tucked into the rear of the junk drawer (under the revolver, oddly enough) and applied it to both felines. This should tide me over until the resupply arrives - I ordered a 6 mos. supply from an online vet pharamacy. Hey, it’s the same medication … just forty-bucks cheaper. The flea powder seemed to kick in pretty quickly too, as I was able to walk around my apartment in my bare feet last night and not get bitten … at all.

Today and tomorrow afternoons (between work) I’m going to be hitting every surface I can think of with clorox. I’m going to pay particular attention to the surfaces the cats enjoy … namely, the window ledges. Also, the rear of this computer monitor, because I’ve found Tippy and Guy both slumped lazily overtop, various body parts dropping in front of the screen and blocking my view. Stupid felines.

I was, for a while, concerned about how the cats got their fleas. Even the first time, I was very surprised. Where the eff do these fleas come from? I asked. Then I had a revelation - they come from me. Well, duh. Every day at work I deliver to multiple residential addresses, most of whom have either a dog or a cat. Many of the dogs are allowed outdoors. And most of those dogs love to run up to me and try to see if if they can knock me over. I most likely picked up the fleas from them, and then brought them home with me. Stupid — !

Tippy is responding to Frontline very well. Then again, she generally doesn’t like to groom herself in front of me, so it could all just be a big show. Guy meanwhile has continued his routine of heavy scratching, and while I’d attributed that to the heat earlier in the spring/summer, I’m wondering if maybe he didn’t have these fuckers before they became … uh … invasive. I’m also worried that I misapplied the Frontline, as he doesn’t seem to have experienced a drop in what I assume is flea-related scratching. (On the other hand, he is a bigger cat).

(Okay, Tippy just got up from lying down on the window ledge and is now … grooming herself, which just goes to show I’ve got no idea what I’m talking about.)

I’m probably going to take the cats in for a bath at some point in the near future. I don’t think I’ve ever had them bathed (they do a good job on their own, and every now and then one of ‘em will get too curious and fall into the bathtub as I’m showering*), but I think a bath and a fresh application of the Frontline medication will, once and for all, rid them of the dreaded flea. (And really, I’m just tired of feeling scabs on Guy).

*This leads me to conclude that my cats, plus water, equal me getting scratched to hell, which discouraged me from bathing them, as both felines are in full possession of their natural weapons (read: not declawed) and willing to use force to achieve what they desire. So I’ll take ‘em to the vets and some poor vet-assistant can get clawed in my place.

PS - I’m also considering flea-bombing the apartment while the cats are at the vets getting bathed. However, I’m not sure if I will do this because a.) I don’t know how effective a flea bomb is over flea powder, b.) I understand the after-effects are a bitch to clean, c.) my windows don’t open fully, and I’m worried about ventilating my apartment after the bombing.

… it almost looks like Tippy’s giving me the middle finger - er, paw? - doesn’t it?

In an amazing coincidence, it was later revealed that both Tippy and Guy had been books in their previous lives.

“Oh, uh, hi, yeah, no, just … very clean sheets … yes, they’re great to … no, I wasn’t rolling over! I just … fell, yes, that’s it. I fell … well, I don’t know whose cat fur that is, why don’t you ask Guy? … Guy doesn’t have gray fur? Are you accusing me, sir? Are you accusing me, sir?!”

I couldn’t sleep last night, and after two hours surfing the same dozen webpages at four in the effin’ morning, I wandered into the living room to see Guy asleep in the laundry hamper by the front door. I stretched myself out on the floor and began rubbing his stomach, and he extended his paws to grab my wrist and purred. But he was clearly a pooped kitty cat, as he didn’t get up and attack my hand with a vicious head-rubbing offensive … actually, he didn’t even raise his head to look at me so I could see him drooling, which is his way of saying, “I like this.” After a few moments, his paws disentangled themselves from me and pushed at my wrist. I took the signal for what it was, and wandered back to bed.

It is - perhaps - a bit much to expect cats to be able to vocalize their complaints. Like when Tippy shows up, rubs her body against my leg and meows, I know off the bat that either she wants some combination of water, food, or a change of cat litter - being unable to speak the English language, she just can’t say, “Hey, jackass, food!”

When an offense is committed against a cat, you know it right away. If it’s a physical offense - stepping on a paw, grabbing a tail - there’s usually a growl, maybe a hiss, possibly a swipe from a claw-happy paw. Sometimes their displeasure is communicated more subtly - after returning from a week out of town, they take to lounging on top of the cabinets in the kitchen, turning their heads away when you enter the room. On occasion, you give offense without realizing it — reclining on the sofa, I saw Guy emerge from the bedroom and race for my dangling hand (he knows its a good bet he’ll get a scratching). Suddenly, about a third of the distance away, he slowed and stopped. He gave me a not-pleased look, turned, and walked away. While any genius can recognize that I did something wrong, Guy’s inability to say, in English, what I did wrong hindered my ability to make him want a scratching!

The frustrating thing about cats isn’t that they’re able to communicate in a limited fashion - it’s that their communication is better than that of some people — myself included, as I’m not exactly an expert in communicating anything.

Anyways, Tippy is communicating to me that she wants water, food, or a change of cat litter, so now its time to use my oh-so-not-brilliant powers of observation to figure out which one she’s complaining about.

My plans for later in the day:

- Going to Home Depot and pricing French Doors … also toilets and sinks (in case there’s a rough-in for a 1/2 bath in the basement of the house I buy)

- Going to Michael’s and buying a sketch pad. I’ve been doodling so many floor layouts and ideas, I might as well keep them organized.

- Going to Toys-R-Us or WalMart or Target to buy Star Wars Risk, and maybe, Godsend Risk, but probably not the latter because I do need to reign-in my spending.

- Meeting up with Jason Thomas to retrieve the FIXED computer! (Also, to hang out and deliver beeeeer).

The expression “like a bug in a rug?” Hows about “like a cat in a comforter?”

The elder cat, Guy, has decided he likes to sleep in my bed. He doesn’t do much sleeping - jumps up and wants to be rubbed and petted and scratched. He’s also a “head butter” … he sees your hand, he’s going to head butt you. (It’s cute - when I was at the HSBC about six years ago, I was planning on getting a kitten, so I was just running my fingers along the bars of the cages, and he just started rubbing his head against my hand, and that’s when I was like, “I like this one!”)

Oh, but anyway, Guy is, as a cat, completely uninterested in anything I do. Which is why for the past few nights, he will hover around the bed until I’ve settled myself down with a good book. As you can see from the photos, he goes from: “Me? This is just the best place to look at the ceiling” to “Here I come! Pet me! Pet me!” to “Put that camera down and show me some pettin’ attention, damn you.”

(…with a bird)

About five seconds after I took this photo, Tippy charged head first into the window trying to pounce on a squirrel. She gave me quite the nasty look - “Why’d you put glass there, you ass?”

Silly feline!