I’ve got an itch. Wife just discovered that Cat has fleas, and now every inch of my body itches. I haven’t been bitten or anything, but simply hearing the word “flea” sends shock-waves through my nervous system. In fact, I bet you have not stopped itching yourself since you started reading this. Spooky, right? The good news is: all we had to do was squeeze a little flea medicine on Cat’s neck and that was that. Well, alright, I guess there was a bit more work to be done, including washing everything we could get our hands on (I had almost fit an entire bedside table lamp in the washing machine when Wife stopped me) and vacuuming until the cows came home. Incidentally, we don’t have any cows, so they never came home, which explains why I am still vacuuming. There are also some delightful psychological effects of finding tiny blood-sucking creatures crawling all over the animal you were just snuggling with your face. Now, whenever I see a speck of dirt, crumb, or flea, I automatically assume the worst: they’ve called for reinforcements! Sure, we may have won the battle, but the war of Cat’s Neck has just begun. Of course, I’m of the opinion that we should just bomb the hell out of the little bastards and pray they don’t have sympathetic allies in an adjacent Cat. But behind every itchy man on the brink of insanity there’s a calm woman telling him it would be stupid to fill their home with poison-filled aerosol cans on timers. Still, “Flea Bomb” just sounds so fun! Do firing ranges let you set off insecticides?