DIATOMACEOUS EARTH

Kitchen (cursed electric cooking device).

How Cooder (and Emmylou) got fleas might be a mystery, as neither of them has been outside to speak of, or it might be that they picked them up from their canine roommate who goes in and out on a much more regular basis, although I never noticed him having any fleas. But no matter, they both have them.

Auntie Iris took Emmy to the vet for the Frontline/Advantage treatment. I tried to find the less expensive pet store alternative. Only I am in alternative land where alternative really means something. There are two pet stores somewhere close to our corporate housing. The first offered nothing in the chemical flea abatement arena. The second is one of a large and sincere chain called, charmingly, Mud Bay.

Now, I might not have explained how MUCH of a dog place this is. Seattle is dog heaven; dog biscuits are everywhere, accessible water bowls, and dog parks, and compostable or biodegradeable waste bags are everywhere. Park Slope has strollers. Seattle has dogs. If dogs take over the world, this is where the revolution has begun.

Being reasonably egalitarian, cats are included in the pet stores, though not as represented. Then again, cats are not as accessorizable as dogs, being, no matter what their size nudists and probably libertarians. (One of my friends insists they are terrorists, but mostly when it comes to furniture and house plants.)

So, back to Mud Bay on a day that I was feeling frustrated and confused about life. I just wanted to get something to stem this flea business as Cooder was sitting on my head, biting and scratching while I was trying to sleep. And sleep is rare enough (as I begin writing this post at 5:45 on a sleep-in Sunday).

Personalized.

The wispy, waifish, tattooed and pierced sales person of the female persuasion took me to a sparsely populated and decidedly non-pharmaceutical flea abatement area. She persuaded me, in my compromised emotional condition, to buy a natural remedy: diatomaceous earth. I just wanted something and I just wanted out.

Two days later, I had not addressed our problem and even the noise of Cooder scratching and snorkeling for fleas was driving me crazy. I made what preparations I could (the woodhippienymph did not sell me the face mask recommended on the package; turns it it is not good for humans to breathe. I had a silk scarf or two to use, just like Lawrence of Arabia!). The treatment is simple: just sprinkle on and rub into fur. Of course, this requires a bit of feline restraint and that of course means a struggle. None the less, Cooder was treated and ran away.

Cooder enjoying the down pillows that did not come with the place.

Now, the only reason I am chronicling this, besides the fact that it is fun to say diatomaceous earth is that it seemed to work. And hellaquickly. Like within two hours. And all I can say is "who knew"?

It's hard to write during the week. Excuses, excuses.