parasitic icing on the cupcake
I was up at 4 in the morning to ascertain why Fat White Dog insisted hitting the top of my head with her paw on the down-stroke.
Somewhere in the depths of all that white fur she’d scrunched up against mom, a flea had entered during the night. By the time I found the tiny turd of blood-sucking ugliness, it was half-dazed from the flea prevention I’d slathered all over her dog body.
I have no logical reason why the quest to kill a flea made me think of cupcakes. Luckily, I made some with the overripe bananas on Sunday. I love the cupcakes, but I’m not crazy about the parasitic honey cinnamon icing that sucks the flavor right out of it, and I will never do that again. I promise.
Back to Fat White Dog. She’s on her favorite spot: My pillow.
One flea. ONE. She scratches at that but has no idea a baseball sized tumor was removed from her back on Friday with a 5 inch incision, and an inch long incision carved a tumor out of her tail. Did I mention a skin tag was lopped off, too?
D@#N! Now I’m eating a cupcake with one hand and scratching at imaginary pixel-sized predators with the other.