Well, so much for la rentrée. The Flophouse has fleas (les puces).
How the hell did that happen?
We think that when we went on vacation in August our two cats, Tatou and Minoche, went wandering in search of low company (which they clearly found). Took us a couple of weeks to figure it out and so the entire house has been infested.
Which presents some challenges. Last time I had to deal with fleas, I was a teenager living in Olympia, Washington 30 odd years ago. What do people do about this today? Surely flea fighting technology has evolved, right?
It also presents a linguistic puzzle. How do you say "flea collar" in French? (Where is that damn dictionary?) Hey, I never had any reason to know that up to now; the Alliance française did not impart to me the vocabulary of pest control.
And I'm not the only one who is struggling here. My French spouse didn't know either. He went off late last week to purchase a product for our furry little friends and he blew it. He picked up wimpy flea repellent, not flea killer which means our first pass at it did no good whatsoever. So much for our fancy French and American educations. Book smart, life stupid. Yep, we have been humbled.
So he fired up an Internet search engine and I called the church ladies. Between the two sources, we figured out what we needed and ordered it. Everything arrives today. I will be unleashing flea Armageddon this afternoon so the Flophouse is definitely closed to visitors.