Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com rockpool in the kitchen: thin skin, sweet blood...

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

thin skin, sweet blood...

Well that's what Granny has evidently. Thin skin, sweet blood. Fleas like it she was told by someone recently. Obviously they like it, judging by her collection of flea bites. Beloved has none - thick skin, sour blood, him: LUCKY HIM. Yes, Granny still has a flea problem. She has washed, boraxed, strongholded all three domestic animals to an inch of her, their, everyone's lives. But still this morning there was a flea nestling on her pillow....

She has clear weeks often. LICKED IT, she thinks, smugly. Next thing, she feels some little thing wandering around inside her garments, and shouts even louder than Amy Winehouse objecting to Rehab - and a lot less musically.... NO NO NO.

The difference between now and last time they had a flea problem - and rid themselves of it - is probably the goats and the chickens. One piece of esoteric knowledge acquired by Granny is that goats can harbour cat fleas: well well well. The cat hangs out with the goats and with chickens and you can't stronghold all of them.

Just as well she's off to England. The most flea-problematic place in the house is her office - it's the only one with a pile rug. She tries to keep the cat out of there - but you know cats. Two or three weeks without her - or the cat - visiting will she hopes starve them out. She would be sad to starve out chickens or any other animals. But she has no compunction about fleas. The RSPCA can lump it. (There's no such thing here. And she doesn't believe that the RSPCA goes in for protecting parasites, anyway.) Let them not eat cake, she shouts, better still, let them starve. By which she means, really, let them not eat HER any longer. Thin skin, sweet blood and all.

PS. Latest suggestion from Mr Handsome is that fleas hop onto Beloved while he's milking the goat. Thick skin, sour blood not suiting them, they hang about till he comes inside then hop on his Beloved crying yummy mummy in flea speak. Or yummy grandmummy rather. That's love that is. Not the kind anyone wants - certainly not a flea-bitten, itching, granny.

Moral of the story. Do not live with a man who keeps goats. Or chickens. You could say: don't keep cats yourself. But if you don't have cats here you are overrun with mice. Itching all over, or shifting sewers' worth of mouse dirt - which infestation to go for? Take your pick.

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