The Monster and the FleasI shut the shed door so the cats couldn't escape after breakfast. Then I hunted them down one by one and squeezed a couple of drops of flea treatment on each. Their general attitude toward this procedure is: They're MY fleas! Leave them alone!
Bright struggled, Angel ran but went still when I grabbed his head, and Goldsmith sat fatalistically awaiting the inevitable. BB, however, squirmed and squalled as though I were torturing him.
Edgarina Possum was shut in, too, observing eveything with eyes as big as a possum's beady little orbs can get. When I opened the door for the cats to run outside, Edgarina made tracks, too. Then she went into her den under the shed and told her kids that I'm a monster. She must have because now as soon as Scurry and Flurry catch sight of me, they flee for their lives.
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