Had I known then what I know now….had I known looking into your tiny face at the pet store that you had not 1 parasite, but

TWO…2 parasites.  Worms a-plenty, but to be honest, I have no idea where you are hiding them in that 2.5 lb body of yours…had I known, would I have brought you home?

What if I had known that you were also covered in big ‘ole fleas?  As I cuddled your sweet purring little frame to me and if I were aware that flea eggs were dropping all around me?  Would I have let you ride on Sara’s lap the entire 65 mile trip home?

And with all of this imaginary knowing, add to it the months of treatment for not 1 cat, not 2, but THREE cats!  With Syd and Max’s unusually fast warm up to you came…what’s that word?  Oh yes, EXPOSURE. The medicine is weight based, so you have your own big bags, stuffed with a pharmacy of kitty cat meds.  When the vet asked me to estimate how much Max had gained since his last visit, the only word that came to mind was “copious”.  He’s less of a cat these days, and more like a quilt.

Having never had a cat with fleas, I had NO IDEA what would come next.  I returned home to a mass exodus of linens from our top floor.  Every rug, every sheet, every blanket, every pillow was torn from its perch and thrown down the stairs where Daddy sorted things into wash and bleach piles.  I think my Dyson (and thank God for the mighty D) ran for 3 hours straight last night.  I vacuumed behind and under and on top of every single piece of everything.   I went into such a retro-Lori cleaning mode that Daddy found me changing the batteries in clocks.  When he asked me what on earth I was doing, I told him that if those fleas could tell time, then they should know that it’s TIME TO LEAVE.  And take the damn parasites with them.  Then I socked myself in the face with my big purple Dyson, and a slew of curse-based adjectives flew out of my mouth, leaving Daddy in fits of laughter, which was followed by me calling him some less than precious names.  Never make fun of a bug-hating Momma who just whacked herself in the face with a metal hose, 1 hour past her bedtime.  Everyone knows this.

When we left the vet, I sighed and told the girls, “Well, I warned you.  Pets are a big responsibility. It’s a good thing we adopted him when we did.  He’s losing weight, so who knows how long he would have lasted at that store.”  Sara replied, “Wow, the Berenstain Bears Trouble With Pets book is REAL Mommy.”  The Gangsta Lori who keeps thoughts to herself wanted to say, “This shit is getting REE-UUL up in here Sara!”, but instead I said, “Yes Sara, good to make that connection.  Berenstain Bears had it right.”  Which left colorful Kelly to spend the remainder of the evening dancing around the house singing, “Cyrus would have DIED.  DEAD CAT!  He’d be ONE DEAD KITTY!”

To answer the question, had I known then what I know now, would I have adopted you?  Of course Baby Cyrus.  Of course I would have adopted your worm-ridden, flea-infested, hair-matted body.  You have an excellent spirit and are in a good mood even when you must feel like crud.  That officially makes you and Daddy the only non-whiners in the house and he needs back up.  Plus,

You match the rug.  And if you recall from my Christmas post, my only real requirement for pets is that they match my house.  I make almost zero exceptions to that rule.  I know the past 24 hours of fuss and psychotic hand washing have you on edge, but we’ve already bought the meds.  You’re staying squirt…at least until I redecorate.