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She's a shelter cat, and ended up adopting me when I fostered her and her three babes, just over a year ago. Like me, she is polite and slow to warm to people. After a year, she still startles easily, but not quite as easily as when she first came to live here.
Which is important, because she has claws. Enormous shiny, sharp claws. So, one does not want to startle Molly.
While Molly enjoys tracking bugs, flying or floor bound, she is hopeless at coming in for the kill. So we have become a team of hunters. She will dash across the room, and I will immediately either take off my shoe or go grab the flyswatter or bug spray, depending on what is in season.
She does have a phenomenal sense of smell. Combined with her hyper-alertness, it is impossible to do things that are the norm with most cats. Like put on a collar. Or get her into her cat carrier, to take her to the vet to get rid of those claws. So I can rub flea-killer into her fur.
Nope. I can't do any of the above, and I have tried. So when a month ago I saw her scratching vigorously, I knew it was the inevitable flea incursion.
Soon I was scratching vigorously as well. I tried one of those little teensy tiny tubes of stuff that you're supposed to rub into the fur around the neck, but no sooner did my finger touch the fur than she took off. I even tried putting the goo on her brush, which she likes, but no sooner did the brush touch the fur and she was gone. To her credit, she has learned to split without taking skin off me in the process.
What to do?
If you are not strong of stomach, you should read no further.
Because, after washing my bedclothes in scalding water, I took out a huge container of boric acid, which had become my go-to pesticide for ants over the years, and read the hit-list.
I was delighted to see that fleas were on the list. But also, I was looking at a container that read 100% boric acid. I was also looking at a flea infestation that would likely kill us before the boric acid could do us harm.
So I started to spread the stuff. Not just around the floor, but on my white socks (white attracts fleas). And, yes, on the bottom of my sheets, where the little buggers lie in wait for my ankles to hit the bed.
Then I bought a spray bottle of flea stuff that says you and your cat should wait for it to dry before contact, and it was okay to spray once a week. Nonsense.
In 84 degrees, I walked around with my white socks, tracking whether I still had fleas, and where they were hanging out. I sprayed Cutter on my feet when they were bare, but since it repels rather than kills, that was just to protect my feet from bites while we were at battle.
The question remained, what to do about Molly. It was agonizing for me to watch her ferocious scratching. I hated to put her in direct contact with the various poisons, but I finally figured there was not another option left. So I sprayed in certain strategic areas, thinking she would set herself down on top of the flea-killer, which would then kill the fleas and leave Molly intact. After some bizarre antics attempting to avoid the apparently nasty-smelling or -feeling area, like climbing into the window sill to avoid her usual night table watch-post, which is now covered with a poison-covered towel, she just gave in and made herself comfortable.
And yesterday, I hit on a winner: a black knit glove, which I think she thinks is another black cat, as she tries to play with it whenever she sees it. I dusted it with boric acid, and then eased up on her and rubbed her neck.
I know, it's an ugly business, but poison is poison. And the sooner we can get it to work, the sooner we'll be done with it, Molly and me.
And I am seeing signs of success. Fewer little rascals hopping onto my socks, and decidedly less energetic when they do. I believe Molly is scratching less. On the other hand, I am imagining the stuff in my nose and throat. So we'll just have to see who goes first, Molly and me or the fleas.
