An unexpected infestation, three very itchy creatures, and one Mama who would like to speak to the manager of whoever invented fleas.

Content Note: Discussion of fleas and infestation, animal itching and skin irritation, bathing-anxious dogs, pet-care guilt, and profanity.

Welcome back to The Crippled Cryptid.

It’s Monday.

Usually, that means we’re heading into the Wyrm Workbench to talk about writing. The words. The projects. The stories currently rattling around inside my skull demanding to be let out.

And I actually had plans for today.

I wanted to talk about Addie Unwritten, the character profiles I’ve been building, and the story bible I’m putting together. The way I like to do it by hand, with an actual physical copy alongside a digital one. You know… because sometimes you want to take it with you physically without a screen?

But sometimes the writing table has to wait.

Because sometimes the creatures of the Den have other plans.

And sometimes those plans involve discovering that your household has apparently become a fucking flea resort.

So today, we’re opening the doors to the Cryptid Kennel.

And, unfortunately, today’s report comes with an infestation.

…and a lot of cuss words. Buckle the fuck in.

🐾 The Incident Report: What the Actual Fuck?

Sunday night started perfectly normally.

We had another phone call with Aunt Lise around 8 PM. It was her birthday, we were required by law to talk to her multiple times. By 10:45, we were lying in bed. I was texting a friend, and Biscuits was making biscuits on my chest.

Being his usual lovey, happy little self.

Purring. Cuddling. Making biscuits.

Then he wandered over to M&M and started doing the same thing.

More biscuits. More affection. More purring.

And then he shook his head and started itching.

Okay. Normal enough.

Except, looking back, there were a few things I hadn’t connected.

My uncle and his girlfriend had been over the other week to work on the sump pump. They met the animals, petted the dogs, and spent some time with the cat.

And the itching seemed to start around that time.

Now, if you walk into my house, you’re going to encounter evidence that animals live here.

Their beds are here. Their toys are here. Their things are here.

It’s their house, too.

I don’t expect someone to make their children disappear because I don’t have children. And I’m certainly not going to hide my animals because someone has come to visit.

Anywho.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.

Blitzø had already been chewing himself raw. We’d been to the vet and were told he had puppy acne, and we’d been given instructions on how to manage it. We’d also ordered the Native Pet Itchy Skit Gutwell supplement for itching, seasonal allergies, and gut health, which was supposed to arrive Wednesday.

We were working on it.

Then something landed on M&M’s face.

She freaked out and asked me what it was.

I had no idea. I thought it might have been a stray piece of litter.

Biscuits is a fluffy, double-coated little creature. Sometimes litter gets caught in all that glorious fur.

So, M&M started combing him.

Some dirt. Some fur. Everything seemed fine.

We even started wondering whether he might have fleas, because we’d dealt with those little bastards in the house before.

We know what we’re looking for. We keep the dogs on preventative. We stay diligent.

But then…

M&M found one. Full grown… the kind that tells you they’ve been here for weeks.

Then another.

Then another.

And then she found the fucking SWARM.

In Biscuits’ belly fur, groin, and armpits.

FUCK. ME. SIDEWAYS.

Suddenly, this wasn’t a little piece of litter.

This was an infestation.

🛁 Operation: Everybody Gets a Bath

First things first.

We checked the flea and tick shampoo.

DO NOT USE ON CATS.

Cats groom themselves. They lick their fur. A product that might be perfectly safe around a cat once it’s dried isn’t necessarily safe for the cat to ingest.

So, Biscuits went into his room while we figured out the next steps.

Then we checked the dogs.

Luna had multiple fleas.

At approximately 11 PM, I changed into a bathing suit and climbed into the bathtub with my Babygirl.

If you know anything about Luna, you know how much she hates baths.

We’ve tried making them easier for her. I’ve gotten into the tub with her before. We’ve tried encouragement, patience, gentle handling, warm water, and plenty of reassurance.

Nothing seems to make the bathtub particularly appealing to the Bean.

I don’t know why she hates it so much. My only guess is that her early experiences with baths weren’t particularly pleasant.

Because here’s the thing.

She doesn’t hate water anymore.

And that is thanks to Blitzø.

Now she’ll go outside in the rain to play with her ball. She’ll put her paws in the lake when we visit the park. She’ll climb into the kiddie pool on the deck because she wants the toys floating in it, or sometimes simply because she wants to.

Those are huge steps for her.

But the bathtub?

We’re still working on that one.

So, I held her in the tub, gently scrubbed her down, and talked to her the entire time.

Telling her she was a good girl.

That she was doing a wonderful job.

That she wasn’t in trouble.

That this wasn’t happening because she’d done something wrong.

She just needed a bath, and I needed her to understand that she was safe.

Because that’s important to me.

I never want her to think that something uncomfortable is happening because she’s been bad.

And to whoever brought fleas into my home, intentionally or otherwise:

FUCK YOU.

I hope you have explosive diarrhea for the next two weeks.

I hope that your ass is raw and bleeding by the end of it, and you don’t have the nice toilet paper.

I hate watching my Babygirl shake in the bathtub, frightened and uncomfortable, because of something that could have been prevented.

We can sit beside her. We can offer reassurance. We can use warm water, gentle words, soft towels, and cookies afterward.

We can do everything in our power to make bath time a safe experience.

But I still hate seeing her scared.

And I hate that she has to go through it.

🐄 The Potato Has Entered the Bathtub

Itzy Bitzy Blitzy was next.

And I know Aunt Lise is probably reading this, shaking her head and laughing, because he isn’t itzy bitzy anymore.

He isn’t a lap dog, either.

Somebody should probably inform him. We’ve tried.

It doesn’t help.

Every time Aunt Lise calls, he has to be in the frame. He needs to be part of the conversation. He loves hearing her voice.

And I love that his affection for her has crossed an entire country and an international border.

I like to think his second language is Quebecois.

She baby-talks him in French, and he knows exactly when she’s talking to him.

Anyway.

Fuck you especially for infesting him with fleas.

He is five months old.

He’s still a baby.

He doesn’t understand why he’s been so damn itchy, why we’re suddenly inspecting his fur, or why he’s being put in the bathtub.

He’s been chewing himself raw, and now he has two bald patches near his tail and hip.

We’re trying a onesie to keep him from making things worse, but if that doesn’t work, he may need a cone. If the irritated areas become infected, antibiotics might be necessary.

And I have approximately seventeen thousand unkind thoughts about whoever is responsible for this situation.

Thankfully, my sleepy boy has absolutely no problem with baths.

He climbed right in.

Well, he tried.

He’d been sleeping in his crate before we discovered the infestation, so he wasn’t entirely sure how to maneuver himself into the tub.

Once he was in, though?

He snuggled up against me and let us wet him down.

And even before we got the shampoo involved, fleas were falling out of his fur like a fucking rainstorm.

I felt awful.

How did I not know they were there?

I know both dogs have double coats. I know they have thick fur. I know Binka almost never stops moving long enough to make a proper inspection easy.

But still.

I felt like the worst dog mom in the world.

Like I either don’t have eyeballs or I’ve been so nonpresent over the past couple of weeks that I deserve to have my pets taken away.

And I want to be transparent about that feeling.

Because I don’t want anyone reading this and thinking I’m some perfect pet parent who has everything figured out.

I’m not.

I miss things.

I get overwhelmed.

I make mistakes.

And sometimes, despite doing my best, something happens that makes me question whether I’ve been doing enough.

This is one of those moments.

But feeling guilty doesn’t mean I’ve failed them.

It means I love them, I care about their wellbeing, and I wish I’d caught this sooner.

Blitzø got soapy.

He got sudsy.

He did those ridiculous happy little foot tappies when I scratched the right spot.

And when it was all over, he was an absolute gentleman about getting dried off.

Then I peeled off my bathing suit, took a shower, and made sure I wasn’t bringing any unwanted hitchhikers along with me.

Because apparently, even Mama needed a decontamination protocol.

🧺 The Aftermath: Clean Beds, Clean Crates, Clean Everything

Of course, bathing the animals wasn’t the end of it.

Blitzø’s crate bedding got changed.

Luna’s bed got changed.

The floor bed got changed.

Everything that could have been carrying fleas needed attention.

Because why would we put a freshly bathed, hopefully flea-free dog back into a potentially infested bed?

Exactly.

We wouldn’t.

And we’re not taking chances.

Biscuits is getting his own appropriate flea treatment, too.

I’d ordered something online, expecting it to arrive today, November 2.

Instead, I woke up to a lovely little delivery notification informing me that it was DELAYED until November 4.

So much for Prime.

My cat isn’t going to wait around for a delivery truck while fleas throw a house party in his belly fur.

We’re sorting out a cat-safe treatment locally, with appropriate veterinary guidance, rather than waiting for an online order.

And until we’ve got this situation under control?

DO NOT COME TO FUCKING VISIT IF YOUR ANIMALS HAVE FLEAS.

Seriously.

Why is that something I need to say?

We have a kitten.

We have two dogs.

We have beds, blankets, furniture, carpets, and an entire household to protect.

Please take responsibility for your animals before bringing them into someone else’s home.

It’s not complicated.

And if you’ve got fleas?

Stay home.

Your pets will thank you.

My vacuum cleaner will thank you.

I will thank you.

Probably with significantly fewer swear words.

Probably.

🦴 The Compensation Department: Reparations Are Required

Now, let’s talk about compensation.

Because you can bet your entire ass that these animals are getting something special today.

The dogs are getting TWO POUNDS of treat salad from Reese’s Barkery.

Two.

Entire.

Pounds.

Luna and Blitzø have endured an evening of unexpected baths, inspections, excessive grooming, and an infestation they absolutely did not ask for.

COMPENSATION REQUIRED.

And Biscuits?

The cat is getting a flea bath, appropriate flea medication, AND I’m finding him something particularly awesome at Reese’s Barkery, too.

Because we’re not leaving the feline out of this arrangement.

He has suffered enough indignity. His belly has been inspected by multiple humans, his personal space has been invaded by tiny unwanted squatters, and now he’s got an appointment with the flea-treatment department.

He deserves something wonderful.

We do not discriminate against victims in this household.

Everybody gets reparations.

Everybody gets snacks.

The fleas get eviction notices.

And Mama’s wallet gets emotional damage.

Honestly, if we’re going to have an emergency household incident, we’re at least going to make sure the victims receive appropriate compensation.

The Compensation Department has spoken.

MOO. WOOF. MROW.

🐾 Today’s Creature Report

Because despite the fleas, the bathing, the laundry, and the general household emergency, this is still the Cryptid Kennel.

And the creatures deserve their proper reports.

Luna Bean:

The Babygirl has had a rough evening.

Baths remain her sworn enemy, but she was incredibly brave. She let Mama help her, accepted reassurance, and got through something she really didn’t want to do.

She’s still our Professional Good Girl.

Still our Service Dingo™.

Still the ball goblin.

And still the best big sister a certain Potato could ask for.

Blitzø:

The Potato has been itchy, uncomfortable, and entirely too interested in chewing himself.

He tolerated his bath beautifully, enjoyed some excellent scratchies, and was an absolute gentleman during the drying process.

He remains suspiciously large.

He remains a baby.

And he remains Mama’s giant spotted problem child.

Biscuits:

The newest member of the household has unfortunately discovered that not all surprises are good surprises.

His beautiful fluffy belly has become a flea convention.

He’s been separated while we get everything sorted, and he’s getting his own flea treatment and a little compensation package.

He remains affectionate, opinionated, and entirely convinced that he deserves to be wherever the humans are.

He’s not wrong.

Mama:

Currently operating on approximately three functioning brain cells.

One is dedicated to the animals.

One is dedicated to laundry.

The third is composing increasingly creative curses about fleas.

M&M:

Found the first flea.

Found the second flea.

Found the third flea.

Found the entire damn infestation.

Official household flea detection department.

Unfortunately, the position comes with no benefits.

BJ / Yard Yeti:

No official report from the Yard Yeti today.

Presumably somewhere preparing to throw a tennis ball approximately seventeen miles.

Training Win: Luna getting through bath time with Mama’s help, and Blitzø being a very cooperative Potato.

Current Crime: Fleas. All of them. Every single one.

Best Good-Creature Moment: Blitzø snuggling against Mama in the bathtub.

Pack / Household Shenanigans: Emergency baths, fresh bedding, flea inspections, and an entire household compensation package.

Kennel Status: Under investigation. Laundry operations ongoing. Pest control protocol activated. Snack reparations approved.

🏠 The Kennel Closing Report

And that’s today’s Cryptid Kennel report.

Not exactly the Monday I had planned.

But that’s the thing about sharing your life with animals.

You can have a schedule. You can have plans. You can have an entire writing project waiting for you at your desk.

And then somebody starts itching.

And suddenly you’re in a bathtub at eleven o’clock at night, wearing a bathing suit, scrubbing a service dog while her giant little brother waits his turn.

Life has a funny way of rearranging the priorities.

I think there’s something important about being honest about the less glamorous parts of having animals.

The vet appointments.

The unexpected expenses.

The laundry.

The mess.

The things you miss.

The moments when you’re worried sick because somebody can’t tell you what’s wrong.

And the guilt.

God, the guilt.

Because when you love something this much, it’s very easy to convince yourself that every little thing that goes wrong is somehow your fault.

But I’m learning that being a good pet parent doesn’t mean never making mistakes.

It means paying attention.

It means responding when something isn’t right.

It means learning, adjusting, and doing better when you know better.

It means climbing into the bathtub with a terrified dog because she needs someone to help her feel safe.

It means letting a puppy snuggle against you while he gets washed.

It means making sure the kitten gets the care he needs, even when the delivery company has other ideas.

And it means doing the laundry.

So much fucking laundry.

These creatures aren’t accessories.

They’re not background decoration.

They’re not convenient little additions to our lives.

They’re family.

And sometimes loving your family means spending your Monday dealing with something you never wanted to deal with in the first place.

We’ll get through it.

One bath.

One load of laundry.

One treatment at a time.

And hopefully, without any more surprise flea conventions.

Because this Den is already full.

We don’t have room for additional residents.

Especially the six-legged kind.

So, wherever you are:

Pet your dogs.

Pet your cats.

Check their fur.

Keep up with their preventatives.

And please, for the love of everything holy, don’t bring fleas into somebody else’s house.

Your animals deserve better.

And so does their furniture.

🐾 Luna’s Kennel Report

Mama survived.

Everyone was inspected.

Bath time was terrible.

Mama stayed with me.

I was very brave.

The ball should have been thrown more.

The fleas should have been thrown away.

Needs improvement.

🐄 Binka’s Moo Memo

I AM GOOD DOG.

I GOT BATH.

I DID NOT EAT SOAP.

I GOT SCRATCHIES.

I LOVE MAMA.

I LOVE SISTER.

I LOVE MUMTHER.

I AM STILL BABY.

WHY AM I ITCHY?

I HEARD THERE ARE COOKIES.

MOO.

🐈 Biscuits’ Purrgatory Field Note

I WAS HAVING A NICE EVENING.

I WAS MAKING BISCUITS.

I WAS BEING CUTE.

SUDDENLY EVERYONE WAS LOOKING AT MY BELLY.

THERE WERE UNINVITED GUESTS.

I DID NOT INVITE THEM.

I AM GETTING A BATH.

I AM GETTING MEDICINE.

I REQUIRE COMPENSATION.

I REQUIRE TREATS.

I REQUIRE MY HUMANS.

I REQUIRE EVERYONE TO RESPECT MY PERSONAL SPACE.

MROW.

Until next Monday…

Stay weird.

Stay kind.

Keep the snacks somewhere the animals can’t reach.

And check your pets for fleas.

Seriously.

Love you.

Now say it back.

– Sky

© The Crippled Cryptid

Disability. Dogs. Cats. Honesty. A little chaos.

🐾 Luna: Service Dog & Professional Mama Supervisor
🐄 Blitzø: Puppy, Big-Paw Menace & Full-Time Baby
🐈 Biscuits: Tiny Tabby, Professional Biscuit Maker & Household Diplomat
🖤 M&M: Permanent Pack Member, Canine Fashion Department & Kitten Acquisition Specialist
🦆 BJ: Yard Yeti & Official Ball-Throwing Champion

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

No pressure to donate. Reading and sharing count.

The Cryptid Kennel is one more corner of the Den where we get to tell the truth, laugh at ourselves, celebrate the creatures who make this life fuller, and document what happens when a household keeps accidentally acquiring more reasons to be loved.

Until next Monday.

🐾🐄🐈