Scratch that Itch!

My beloved fat cat, Merlin, has fleas. (Please, go ahead and scratch the inevitable itch the word 'fleas' caused.)

Upon this unfortunate discovery, I began my online search for a remedy. I remembered a cure a vet had prescribed years ago - a pill that kills the fleas on the cat or dog. It’s actually really amazing stuff. I soon discovered it could be purchased at a local pet store.

I took my daughters to not one, but two pet stores yesterday. These are the same daughters about whom I declared not long ago that I would not be taking them to any shopping establishments again. EVER. Of course, I broke this declaration within days of making it. I’m home with them all day, every day. Sometimes we need something from the store.

Pet stores are a special kind of torture. The first one we went to actually sells dogs. The children are in a frenzy! I’m gritting my teeth thinking of puppy mills. The employees are actually trained to try and encourage shoppers to buy a dog if they so much as turn toward the dog area. And they don’t have what we need.

So, what is the appropriate manner to treat one’s daughters in a pet store? Like pets, of course. At least, that’s where my instinct took me. As they strayed from my side, I responded with a curt whistle and clap to get them back. And you know what? They listened. They responded. I felt like a responsible, and also slightly weird, mom. As most moms are shouting their childrens’ names across stores, I’ll be the nutjob whistling and clapping my children back to safety. That’s fine. I’m cool with that.