They've got something even worse. My ankles look like a battlefield but that's fine, sayeth the vet, because they only have fleas. But before I could sigh in relief, she continued. Not only do they have fleas but apparently a new super duper- utterly-resistant- to-anything-made-by man kind. After hoovering the entire house twenty times, each time interspersed with spraying some kind of liquid that cost almost as much as the the Harley I've always wanted, we had to hoover and spray it again.
If this hasn't killed the little sods I've come up with a secondary use for the now empty and ludicrously expensive aerosol. I'll beat the monsters to death.
They must have caught the glint in my eye or heard the growl because they haven't come home since yesterday.
Why can't I have a dog?