The End of the Flea

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a short, mildly interesting event that happened to me a few years ago.

Submitted: May 27, 2012

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Submitted: May 27, 2012




The End of the Flea


I sat on the couch, the TV chattering away and our Siamese cat Bambi purring contentedly on my lap as I scratched his back. It was late winter and muted popping could be heard as wood slowly disintegrated in the large iron stove. I was alone in the house.

As I rubbed the cat, I glanced down from the TV only to see a tiny dot of an apparition appear from the depths of his fur and then disappear again. I frowned.

What in the world?

I started digging around, spreading the cat's fur in different places in an attempt to find whatever I had just seen. After a few moments, it reappeared and then disappeared again. And again.

Finally, I got this thing—whatever it was—separated into a clearing in the cat's hair. Suddenly, in that instant, I realized what it was.

A flea.

It scrambled back into the cover of the cat's fur.

Challenge accepted.

I began searching again with gusto. My mind filled with images of a flea-infested household. This was some months after the Lice Affair, when a lady had brought her children over for us to babysit even though she knew her kids had head lice. The house had become a bio-hazard zone. My dad and I shaved our heads. Bags of sheets and clothes lay everywhere as we suffocated any louse eggs (known as nits). It was most...inconvenient. I didn't have any particular intention to let something like that happen again.

After finding the flea a couple more times in the forest of hair, it finally made a run for it. Or a leap for it, to be more precise. I stood up abruptly and was nearly pantsed, as it were, by the cat as he dug his claws into my sweats. After removing the cat from my legs, I headed in the direction of the dining room table, looking for the flea. I spotted it again near the table, just a tiny black spot whizzing through the air.

I chased it into the kitchen, around the cooking area, and back to the dining room. It was tedious to track the erratic movements of such a tiny brute. It was a matter of clearing the several feet around where you thought you had seen the flea land, all while keeping out a sharp eye. The brown carpet did not help matters much.

I am not sure if it was my imagination or not, but I thought that sometimes I could hear just the tiniest pop! as it launched itself into the air. Once or twice I nearly caught the bugger, only to be evaded at the last moment.

I was beginning to get frustrated. I didn't even know what I was going to do with the flea if I did catch it, but catch it I would.

Just as I neared it again, the flea gave one more mighty leap and landed...

Well, it landed right on the center of the wood stove. The flea gave an almost instant attempt to get off of the hot surface, but it was too late. The jump only gained it two or three inches. With a muted pop and a single tendril of smoke, it flipped over on its side and ceased movement.

I stood there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do. I nodded slowly and returned to my seat on the couch. The cat returned to my lap and began purring as I scratched its back. The TV chattered away. The wood stove crackled across the room.

Down the hall, I could hear the dog scratching himself.



The End [of the Flea]

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