Fleas

Last Sunday -

A-L: I'm taking Kitty to the vet tomorrow. I don't think she knows yet.

Paul: How are you taking her there?

A-L: In my handbag. Actually, I might phone them to see if they have a cat carrier I can use.

Paul: Will you put a blanket in there so she's comfortable?

A-L: Yeah, I guess so. But the vet is a block and half away, and I don't think a blanket will make up for the fact that she's confined in a box.

After the vet appointment -

A-L: Let's return her. She has fleas. It's November, it's 3 degrees outside and the cat has fleas. I thought they only lived near the equator. I can see the Arctic Circle from my bedroom window, and my cat has fleas. Don't they die after Labor Day?

Paul: Presumably the cat's fur keeps the fleas warm.

A-L: Don't get smart with me. I didn't sign up for this deal. Now I have to medicate her, fumigate the house, and wash all the bedding.

Paul: What do you mean you didn't 'sign up for this deal.' You stole that cat.

A-L: I didn't know she had fleas. This changes everything.

Paul: Don't be so dramatic.

A-L: What's a blog without drama? You have to keep the readers coming back.