It is summertime and the cats have developed a problem (or three thousand). We have fleas in the house.
Maia's soft, milkywhite skin is much beloved by these little critters and she comes hopping up yelping " A filly mummy, a FILLY!"
We have zapped the cats and hoovered the carpets to within an inch of their lives. Not in time, however, to prevent a few bites.
Which got noticed at school.
Nearly as embarrassing as admitting that the name of our ex-cat was, indeed, Manky Cat, was having to explain to Mrs Hunt that those little red bumps were neither chicken-pox nor measles, but flea bites. Ho hum.
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