we be at war

“I tell you, it’s because of the cat who gave birth.”  Stated by my uncle.

“Oh really?”

“Yes.  It’s because of the cat who gave birth and we’ve gotten them everywhere.”

“No.  It’s not because of that.”

“Oh!  I know.  Something must have died.”

“One of the kittens must have died.”


“Well!  Maybe it was a rat.  Oh, you know, I bet it was one of those rats!”

“I don’t think so….”


“Christi!  Everyone’s full of them!”


“The fleas!  I was just told… A boy came back from his village and he was full of bites!  People had to throw away and burn everything!”

“Oh wow.”

“Apparently, no one has sprayed for fleas.”


“We’ve never had a problem with fleas before.  This is the first time.”  Stated by my mother.


Welcome to Greece – residence for ‘know-it-alls’ and superstition.  Alas, who am I kidding?  I’m exactly the same.

Lately, I’ve been cutting up limes, oranges, lemons putting them in a pan, adding water and boiling it, letting it sit to cool off and then putting it in a spray bottle.  I read online this remedy is something fleas appall.  They don’t like it.  Mom and I spay it when we’re about to lose our minds and I really do believe it works some miracles.

My house is under attack.  By fleas.

I’m literally at the point of hatred.

This placebo effect is really affecting me – because I believe they are in the house, every moment of the minute, I feel like they are on me.  My mind is so powerful that it over-exaggerates their existence.

So what does my day look like now?

Spray.  Then vacuum.  Then spray again.  Then vacuum again.  Suck up all those stupid eggs and drown them to death till they run out of our house and stop eating my poor kitty-cats alive!


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