The Queen’s Fleas

Oh, the perils of pet care!

I have three elderly pets. The pomeranians, Gonzo and Camilla, are fourteen. The cat, Moomba, is sixteen.

People always think my dog is named after the now Queen Consort of the now King Charles. It’s actually after the muppet but for the sake of this story let’s go with the first one.

Normally I consider pets far less troublesome than children, but senior animals come with new challenges and personality changes.

My cat absolutely despises her early renal prescription food. What she most desires is the dogs’ food! She has been knocking over the garbage cans to try to get at the dogs wet food containers.

I give toothless old Gonzo his Heartgard and Nexgard by hand. But HRH Queen Camilla has teeth and can be a bit lunge-y so I have her sit, drop the chew in front of her and watch her eat it.

This month the cat was being pesky and mad about not getting what the dogs were getting on preventives day. Still everything appeared normal.

10 days later, massive explosion of fleas all over poor Camilla. She went to her standing appointment at the grooming salon and got a flea bath, but we were puzzled because Gonzo was fine. Did we get a bad dose of the vet product? My housemate’s cats also exploded in fleas.

Then I look at Moomba, sleeping peacefully without a flea on her. And I had a lightbulb moment. Two doses, two flea free animals.

The cat had stolen and eaten the other Nexgard dose!

The kitties were revolting and poor Queen Camilla had fleas eating her arse.

And we thought Diana had it rough!

Epilogue: Camilla immediately got a new dose of the Nexgard and is recovering. She has a vet appointment to make sure her poor butt heals. The bourgeoisie kitties are getting their Revolution. The Culprit is completely unharmed and napping without a care in the world for all the trouble she’s caused.

And that, my friends is the tale of The Queen’s Fleas.

Now if only I can format it in Chaucerian meter.