MY HOUSE HAS FLEAS

Click here to return the main menu.

I’ve got fleas.

Well, I don’t have fleas, but they are apparently in my house. My wife had been coming to me for several days pointing out red spots on her legs and arms. “Something is biting me!” she would say.

“Nonsense,” I would say.

I just assumed that she was imagining the bites, apparently enough to make them actually appear on the skin. Never underestimate the power of negative thinking.

I asked her if she had seen anything that bites, such as mosquitoes or fleas or Mike Tyson. She told me that she had not, but that she was confident it was fleas. When I asked her to explain why, she told me that the dogs had been scratching.

I hardly found that as reason to point to fleas. They’re dogs. That’s what they do. I did a close inspection of the dogs and could locate no fleas. I considered checking the cat, but she quickly reminded me that she does not allow human touch, and that what was in her fur was her business, and that I would be smart to move along.

So I continued to dismiss my wife’s assessment. After a few more days (at this point, it looked as though she had been pelted with buckshot) she said, “I found them. I saw them. We have fleas. And for the love of all things decent please help me scratch.”

I am not sure whether she actually saw them or if the itching had made her delusional, but I decided to accept her findings and contact our pest control company. As I explained the problem, I was expecting her to tell me that the pest control guy would come out, spray some chemical down and be done with it. My wife and kids were going to be out of town, so now would the perfect time for that.

Little did I know there was work required on my part. Among the chore list that I was given: (a) get everything off of the floor, including in closets (b) vacuum the entire house (c) sweep and mop any floor that wasn’t carpeted (d) wash all linens (e) vacuum the furniture.

Now, it may seem that most of this is pretty routine stuff that is involved in taking care of a house. But first keep in mind clearing the floor of all debris is next to impossible when you have small children. I have to do an Indiana Jones-style wobble through any room to avoid stepping on the side of a Fisher Price barn and falling face-first into a toy piano.

Second, who vacuums furniture? Maybe some people do. But I’m guessing that if most of you looked under your sofa cushions, you would have a similar reaction to mine: “Ewwww. What is that? When is the last time we had popcorn? Hey! A quarter! And the remote!”

Another component of the flea-removal preparation was the disposal of vacuum cleaner bags. I was told that I need to throw out the current vacuum bag and replace it with a new one. Then, after I vacuum every exposed inch of my home, I have to get rid of that bag. That is hard for me to do, because vacuum cleaner bags, in my world, are designed to house the densest collection of dirt, dust and pet hair possible. They are only meant to be changed when they get so full that they actually start spitting stuff back at you. Trashing a bag after one vacuuming seems a colossal waste. (My wife frowns upon this aspect of my housecleaning.)

As I told my wife all of the preparation work I was undergoing, she told

me that I had neglected one minor detail. She pointed out that the fleas had gotten into the house somehow, and it was probably a good idea to treat the critters who had brought them in. “Well, the kids are with you. You treat them,” I said.

Turns out she meant the dogs and cat. Treating the dogs will be a snap. I will call them over, and they will come bounding over with a look on their face that shows they are expecting the single greatest news every bestowed upon dogkind. When I whip out the medicine, they will wag their tails excitedly, thinking I must have given them the single greatest medicine ever bestowed upon dogkind. Dogs have an unmatched optimism that is almost sad at times.

Our cat, on the other hand, will be a different story. To treat her, I will arm myself with a winter coat, thick work gloves and loud music. The gloves and coat ward off her claws. The loud music drowns out my screams when I realize my face is exposed. Hopefully, the effort will pay off, and the fleas will soon be gone. Assuming they were ever there in the first place.