Flashes of Panic

I was playing “paddles” with Iz last night, so he was rolling around on his back. (That cat goes inverted more than any cat I’ve ever known. I think it’s because he’s so combative; on his back he has the use of 2⁴ claws instead of 2³. Plus teeth, of course.) He rolled one way, and suddenly I saw a tick on the floor. He rolls back, and it’s gone.

The game was called (too many players on the field) and some vigorous combing began. Being a typical boy who prefers grooming on his own terms, Iz was not cooperative; the kitten mitten was called in to aid in subduing him, but inevitably Iz was the only one not bleeding. Cleaning the brush, I found the tick clinging to the shed hair.

I found a bottle of hydrogen peroxide left over from sterilizing my stitches (with Iz in the house, it’s always a good idea to have something to sterilize stitches with,) poured about half a cup into a glass, and combed the tick into the peroxide. Oh, says the tick, disinfectant bath. He paddles around on the surface, obtusely unaware that he is the infection. Using an implement, I push him under. He turns out to be a diver. I hold him under. He climbs up the implement. I push him under again, then remove the implement. He stays under, but keeps ticking. Er, kicking.

After two minutes in the toxic kiddy pool I have determined empirically that ticks are not bothered by peroxide. I’ve heard that isopropyl alcohol is better, but I have no alcohol of any sort readily available, not that I would waste consumables on a tick.

Instead I decide on that all-purpose tool of the modern world, the microwave. Thirty seconds on high, and the eight legs curl up in a little tiny ball. Entirely more effort than it deserved, of course.

The unanswered question, though, is how it got in to begin with; Iz doesn’t go outside. Either it came in the house on its own, or hitched a ride on one of us. I’m not really comfortable with either option.

Now playing: Seen Your Video from Let It Be by The Replacements