My night ended at six in the morning. I woke up at one in the afternoon.
In the midst of finally cleaning my room, I noticed Charlotte scratching like a madwoman. I began to assist her, which pleased both of us; hers, a pleasure in finally getting relief in hard to reach places, and mine in being able to show affection without being attacked. It was good. And it continued for about an hour, on and off.
Moments after my wanting to get back to room, she began scratching violently in the places where I'd helped her earlier. I felt the need to assist my friend, so I picked her up, and to my disgust, found little red critters eroding the small face of my little kitten. She was looking at me with sorry eyes and sheer panic. I panicked too but I was comforted when Luis assured me he'd go to the pet store as soon as his shift ended.
I tried giving her a dip in water/peroxide, but she freaked out and dug her claw into my hand. I think at this point, even I'm questioning why I own a pet. She ran and continued to run away from me until Luis got home.
Then it was real bath time, and my first Twitter photo will relate to you the horror that that turned out to be, for everyone. But we spent the rest of that afternoon using a flea comb trying to remove as many of those disgusting monsters from her helpless fur. I think all in all, we got a good 60-70.
And that was my day. My only meal today was a Belgian waffle, two eggs (sunny side up), and hash browns.
Seriously. My life. And here I am telling people to get their shit together.