"There are places I'll remember,
all my life though some have changed,
some forever not for better,
some have gone and some remain"
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The cats have fleas. At least Siamese has fleas. We are not able to burrow all the way down through the fur to check Maine Coon's skin. We will assume that they both have them.
Off to Soriana supermarket to get some flea killer. We found beer, roasted chickens, cat food (but no litter), olives stuffed with cheese or anchovies or tuna. Where is the pet stuff? When we did find the pet isle. They have all kinds of dog stuff but they act as if having a gato for a mascota is kind of foolish, having an inside cat is very silly and worrying about it having fleas is bordering on insane. The cat supplies take up about the same amount of shelf space as bird seed and fish food combined. P looked on the bottom shelf under the leashes, rawhide chewies and dog bones and found the flea powder. Flea, by the way is "pulga." She found the flea shampoo and the flea powder. Talco antipulgas y antigarrapatas. We brought it back home.
The instructions on the can of powder prompted a flurry of activity among the English speakers here at the condo. The instructions on the flea powder direct us to... evitando los ohos (eyes), oidos (ears) and el hocio. What the hell is a el hocio anyway? Now we don't just run to the phrase book right off. It's way more fun to holler out off the balcony "Hey what is a hocio?" That always prompts a response from somebody. They usually say "A WHAT!?" "Hocio." "Hocio?" we repeat back and forth. The next group process is trying to decode the meaning of the word by context. After we all decided we didn't know that word, we finally looked it up. It means "Snout or Muzzle." Go figure, don't get the flea powder on their snout. Duh.
Okay, this morning it was time to clobber Maine Coon with the toxic powder. So I took her out on the back balcony. The one overlooking the street. I had some cotton shorts on. That's all, but they have pockets so I was decent enough at 7:45 on a warm Sunday morning to just jump out there and powder the cat and come right back in. Did you ever hear a sound that registers way back in your lizard brain but all the stuff going on around you kind of forces that important noise out of your stream of consciousness? That is exactly the kind of sound the sliding glass door made as I locked myself out on the balcony with a recently powdered 19 pound cat. I peered inside the apartment. I could see P. She was way off in the kitchen at the counter, checking her e-mail and having a cup of coffee. Tap, Tap, Tap, on the door with the flea powder container. Maine Coon was shaking and rubbing against the railings. A cloud of flea powder drifted by. Some of it got on my Hocio! Tap, tap, tap, tap! WTF? P didn't move. Bang, bang, bang. She sort of turned her head a little, or was it only wishful thinking on my part. Maine Coon joined me in wanting back inside. Meow! Boom! Boom! Boom! Would the glass break? Can the people getting in their cars below see up my shorts? I got away from the edge and smiled sheepishly to the family down there on the street. They had been alerted by my frantic scrabbling and Maine Coon's helpful wailing. "Hola, buenas dias." MEOW! P was suddenly at the door laughing as she let me in. She was looking past me. Who is she talking to down there? Our neighbor was returning from his walk. Maine Coon and I retreated inside as P exchanged environmental information with our perambulating friend. "Nice day huh?" "It's a warm one."