Monday, July 21, 2008
Dead Hermit Crab
The Eulogy: You were a good hermit crab. I knew you for a week, but wish I had known you longer. I kind of wish I would've given you a name other than "the one in the purple shell".
Flush.
Believe it or not, I stayed up late last night writing. I posted a little blog entry about how to care for your hermit crab and decided to go to bed. I checked on the crabs before bed, and one of them was dead.
I was excited when I read the article because I realized I had been doing almost everything right. I kept them in an aquarium with the right kind of sand. I was very proud of my accomplishment, then... dead.
It is appropriate to flush a crab. With fish it's kind of obvious, but I'm unsure about crabs that live on land. (No, I didn't flush the shell. I'm not a complete idiot.)
I'm down to one crab. I think I'm going to get more, but I'll probably have to order them online because they can't afford another trip to Atlantic City for a four dollar crab.
Flush.
Believe it or not, I stayed up late last night writing. I posted a little blog entry about how to care for your hermit crab and decided to go to bed. I checked on the crabs before bed, and one of them was dead.
I was excited when I read the article because I realized I had been doing almost everything right. I kept them in an aquarium with the right kind of sand. I was very proud of my accomplishment, then... dead.
It is appropriate to flush a crab. With fish it's kind of obvious, but I'm unsure about crabs that live on land. (No, I didn't flush the shell. I'm not a complete idiot.)
I'm down to one crab. I think I'm going to get more, but I'll probably have to order them online because they can't afford another trip to Atlantic City for a four dollar crab.
Labels: pets
Caring for Hermit Crabs
Last summer we got a couple of hermit crabs. They didn't live long. This summer, Ainsley wanted to get some more of them. We got two in Atlantic City last weekend, and I'm determined to take better care of them.
Here's an article about caring for hermit crabs I found and I figured I'd pass it on to you.
Here's an article about caring for hermit crabs I found and I figured I'd pass it on to you.
Hermit Crab Care -- 8 Tips on Keeping Healthy and Happy Hermit Crabs
By Jennifer Manning
Are you thinking of buying one or a few hermit crabs? Hermit crab care seems so simple. Just put them in a little plastic critter carrier with a cap of food and a sponge of water and they'll be fine and dandy.
Unfortunately, it's not as simple as that. This setup is far from the ideal conditions required by the land hermit crabs available in the majority of pet shops. Here are some essential tips on how to keep your hermit crabs happy and healthy.
- Provide a glass aquarium for your hermit crabs -- at least a 5 gallon for one crab and 10 gallons or more for multiple crabs. Get a lid for the top and try to keep a minimum humidity of 70% and a minimum temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit.
- Apply an under tank heater to your hermit crab's aquarium and invest in a thermometer and humidity gauge to monitor the environment and make changes as needed.
- Place 1 to 2 inches of calci--sand or play sand in your hermit crab's home (Crabitat). Keep the sand slightly moistened at all times.
- Providing a fresh bowl of non--chlorinated water daily is vital in proper hermit crab care. You can purchase dechlorination drops at your local pet store.
- You should buy a wide variety of shapes and sizes of shells for your crab to change into as desired. Hermit crabs molt and grow on a regular basis and need larger shells to accommodate them.
- It's not a good idea to keep only one hermit crab -- get a few. Hermit crabs are social creatures and live in colonies of hundreds in the wild and do much better when they have the companionship of others.
- In addition to a good staple hermit crab food (available in most pet stores), provide them with a variety of other foods. They also enjoy fresh apples, bananas, peanut butter and a variety of other foods. Variety is very important in hermit crab care. I also like to add a little aquarium sea salt to their food dish too. I usually put the fresh food in a separate dish and remove it the next day.
- Hermit crabs love to climb and play, so provide a variety of toys such as driftwood, flower pots, shells and fish nets. Be creative and experiment. You never know what your hermit crabs will enjoy playing with. Thoroughly clean anything before adding it your Crabitat.
Get more important tips about Hermit Crab Care at http://www.petcarejournal.com - a website designed to provide you with pet care articles and resources to help you get the most out of your pet keeping experience, no matter what type of pet you own.
Labels: pets
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Molly the Disabled Pony from Hurricane Katrina
Meet Molly. She's a gray speckled pony who was abandoned by her owners when Katrina hit southern Louisiana , USA . She spent weeks on her own before finally being rescued and taken to a farm where abandoned animals were stockpiled. While there, she was attacked by a pit bull terrier, and almost died. Her gnawed right front leg became infected and her vet went to LSU for help. But LSU was overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare case. You know how that goes.But after surgeon Rustin Moore met Molly, he changed his mind. He saw how the pony was careful to lie down on different sides so she didn't seem to get sores, and how she allowed people to handle her. She protected her injured leg. She constantly shifted her weight, and didn't overload her good leg. She was a smart pony with a serious survival ethic.
Moore agreed to remove her leg below the knee and a temporary artificial limb was built. Molly walked out of the clinic and her story really! begins there.
'This was the right horse and the right owner,' Moore insists. Molly happened to be a one in a million patient. She's tough as nails, but sweet, and she was willing to cope with pain. She made it obvious she understood (that) she was in trouble. The other important factor, according to Moore , is having a truly committed and compliant owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care required over the lifetime of the horse.
Molly's story turns into a parable for life in post-Katrina Louisiana . The little pony gained weight, her mane felt a comb. A human prosthesis designer built her a leg.The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life, Allison Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports. She asks for it! She will put her little limb out, and come to you and let you know that she wants you to put it on. Sometimes she wants you to take it off too.' Sometimes, Molly gets away from Barca. 'It can be pretty bad when you can't catch a three-legged horse', she laughs.
Most important of all, Molly has a job now.
Kay, the rescue farm owner, started taking Molly to shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, rehabilitation centers. Anywhere she thought that people needed hope. Wherever Molly went, she showed people her pluck. She inspired people. And she had a good time doing it.
'It's obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to play in life', Moore said, 'She survived the hurricane, she survived a horrible injury, and now she is giving hope to others.''She's not back to normal,' Barca concluded, 'but she's going to be better. To me, she could be a symbol for New Orleans itself.'
Labels: disabled people, inspiration, pets
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Getting Back to Work
I was getting tired of the look of SunFyre. This template isn't much better, but at least it's fresh. I'm trying to get back in the mood for writing. Writing for me is usually a daily process, but I took over two weeks off. I was sick.
Things were just starting to go good for me, and I started to forget I am disabled. God needed to remind me, apparently. My kids had been coughing for two weeks, then they gave it to me.
Here's a long drawn out story.
Tuesday I ran a fever. Wednesday I felt like crap. Thursday morning I was on the road to recovery.
Then the power went out.
I thought it was typical stuff in my rural community. A car hits a telephone pole, and the power goes out for 45 minutes, then it returns. (Around here, they call electricity "power" or "lights". If you've lived here a long time, you say "The lights are auten.")
After 30 minutes, my battery backups from my computers start to fail. Around 40 minutes I am officially out of business until the "lights are back".
About 3 1/2 hours later I called the electric company to find out that it wasn't my entire neighborhood, it was just me. Apparently we were late with the electric bill, and the local electric company doesn't mess around in April. I paid the bill, $222.50, by telephone. They refused to reconnect the service for 24 hours. (By the way, during the winter my electric bill averages $600 per month.) Now I'm mad.
Partially, I am mad the electric company. Partially, I'm mad at my wife who decided in her infinite wisdom that she would only pay half the bill this month because we were expecting a large tax payment April 15.
Thursday afternoon I'm trying to get ahold of the Pennsylvania Utility Commission to file a complaint because the electric company didn't believe a shutoff notice on the premises, which is required by law.
That's when I noticed my cat was sick. Very sick.
She hides behind a little table in my office sometimes. There was a foul odor. Very foul.
I moved the little table and found my cat laying in her own urine and feces, laboring to breathe.
About that time my children arrived home, Jason with a temperature well over 100 and a cough that sounded like a coal miner who smokes too much.
Kristen came home and we rushed the cat to the vet, and my sister-in-law took Jason to the doctor.
Three hours later we are still sitting in the veterinarian's office, and I'm freezing. The air-conditioning was extremely low. My fever has returned and I'm sitting there shivering. I'm getting angry at the three fat women who worked in the vet's office. I'm sorry if it's rude to say that fat women require extra air-conditioning, but now I'm really angry, and they were really fat.
They ran about $500 worth of tests to find nothing wrong. Apparently, the cat had a fever too, and that's all they could identify. She was bad enough however that they wanted to hospitalize her. He gave her some antibiotics and I think the three fat ladies said a prayer. (Whatever they did, it worked and she's fine now.)
Now I'm sad, angry, freezing and sweating at the same time.
We picked up the kids. (They gave Jason an antibiotic and said some prayers. I'm not sure if the nurses were fat.) We took the kids home to our very dark and increasingly chilly house. I let the kids sleep in the living room because it was the only room that gets light from the street. Two 5-year-olds in zero night lights means a bedtime battle. I wasn't up for the fight, so we had a "campout". Ainsley was mad because we couldn't make s'mores. I was mad because all I had was warm tunafish. (My kids ate with their aunt.)
Friday morning we had to use a battery-powered alarm clock. I'm used to waking up with Drew's Crew on the radio. (He kind of sucks, but it's the only radio station for about 100 miles that isn't Country or Christian, or both.)
Instead, I wake up to something it sounds like a car alarm. It literally scares me so bad I inhale that disgusting phlegm that accumulates during the night in your mouth. It kind of tastes like my cat smelled yesterday.
Anyhow, that bacteria laden sputum shot directly into my left lung. I promptly coughed it out, the phlegm, not the lung. But apparently one sole bacterium decided to set up shop. Within a few hours, the electricity had returned, but I'm throwing globs of yellow gunk out with every third breath. By Saturday morning I'm on antibiotics and I'm beginning to smell.
A little history.
Now it's 2008. I started thinking that maybe this was my next bout of once-per-decade pneumonia. I'm already a year overdue. Now, unfortunately, my schedule is far too filled to arrange a funeral for myself. I can die now, I have a mortgage. Again a different kind of spiritual healing, this one driven by a mountain of debt on a guy who can't get life insurance because some doctor told my parents I should've been dead 35 years ago.
So I decided to get better. I took time off work. I coughed when I needed to cough. I drank lots of hot tea and apple juice. I took my medicine. And I slept about 16 hours a day. By the end of the week I was better and my wife was ready to kill me.
I'm back to work now, and writing more. Last night we paid our bills, and the first check I wrote... to the gas company... $1113.95. The second check was to the mortgage company... $1417.95. There is something sick about utilities that cost more than your home per month.
Well, I'm feeling better. Thanks for enduring my long story.
Things were just starting to go good for me, and I started to forget I am disabled. God needed to remind me, apparently. My kids had been coughing for two weeks, then they gave it to me.
Here's a long drawn out story.
Tuesday I ran a fever. Wednesday I felt like crap. Thursday morning I was on the road to recovery.
Then the power went out.
I thought it was typical stuff in my rural community. A car hits a telephone pole, and the power goes out for 45 minutes, then it returns. (Around here, they call electricity "power" or "lights". If you've lived here a long time, you say "The lights are auten.")
After 30 minutes, my battery backups from my computers start to fail. Around 40 minutes I am officially out of business until the "lights are back".
About 3 1/2 hours later I called the electric company to find out that it wasn't my entire neighborhood, it was just me. Apparently we were late with the electric bill, and the local electric company doesn't mess around in April. I paid the bill, $222.50, by telephone. They refused to reconnect the service for 24 hours. (By the way, during the winter my electric bill averages $600 per month.) Now I'm mad.
Partially, I am mad the electric company. Partially, I'm mad at my wife who decided in her infinite wisdom that she would only pay half the bill this month because we were expecting a large tax payment April 15.
Thursday afternoon I'm trying to get ahold of the Pennsylvania Utility Commission to file a complaint because the electric company didn't believe a shutoff notice on the premises, which is required by law.
That's when I noticed my cat was sick. Very sick.
She hides behind a little table in my office sometimes. There was a foul odor. Very foul.
I moved the little table and found my cat laying in her own urine and feces, laboring to breathe.
About that time my children arrived home, Jason with a temperature well over 100 and a cough that sounded like a coal miner who smokes too much.
Kristen came home and we rushed the cat to the vet, and my sister-in-law took Jason to the doctor.
Three hours later we are still sitting in the veterinarian's office, and I'm freezing. The air-conditioning was extremely low. My fever has returned and I'm sitting there shivering. I'm getting angry at the three fat women who worked in the vet's office. I'm sorry if it's rude to say that fat women require extra air-conditioning, but now I'm really angry, and they were really fat.
They ran about $500 worth of tests to find nothing wrong. Apparently, the cat had a fever too, and that's all they could identify. She was bad enough however that they wanted to hospitalize her. He gave her some antibiotics and I think the three fat ladies said a prayer. (Whatever they did, it worked and she's fine now.)
Now I'm sad, angry, freezing and sweating at the same time.
We picked up the kids. (They gave Jason an antibiotic and said some prayers. I'm not sure if the nurses were fat.) We took the kids home to our very dark and increasingly chilly house. I let the kids sleep in the living room because it was the only room that gets light from the street. Two 5-year-olds in zero night lights means a bedtime battle. I wasn't up for the fight, so we had a "campout". Ainsley was mad because we couldn't make s'mores. I was mad because all I had was warm tunafish. (My kids ate with their aunt.)
Friday morning we had to use a battery-powered alarm clock. I'm used to waking up with Drew's Crew on the radio. (He kind of sucks, but it's the only radio station for about 100 miles that isn't Country or Christian, or both.)
Instead, I wake up to something it sounds like a car alarm. It literally scares me so bad I inhale that disgusting phlegm that accumulates during the night in your mouth. It kind of tastes like my cat smelled yesterday.
Anyhow, that bacteria laden sputum shot directly into my left lung. I promptly coughed it out, the phlegm, not the lung. But apparently one sole bacterium decided to set up shop. Within a few hours, the electricity had returned, but I'm throwing globs of yellow gunk out with every third breath. By Saturday morning I'm on antibiotics and I'm beginning to smell.
A little history.
In 1977 I got pneumonia for the first time. Pneumonia can be life-threatening to people with my disability. I was seven years old, and my parents figured it had probably overstayed my welcome already. Originally, doctors only told my parents to expect four or five years.
In 1987, I got pneumonia for the second time. I was hospitalized, but had the will to survive. It wasn't the will placed in me by God, it was the desire to complete high school, (I graduated that year) go to college and get laid. The healing power of the vagina was drawing me ever closer.
In 1997, engaged to Kristen, I got pneumonia for the third time. I'm laying there in the hospital feeling half dead. Kristen starts to explain to me how she'd already got a fantastic dress, and I wasn't allowed to screw this up for her! Again, the healing power of the vagina. Or maybe, it was just nagging. I'm always amazed at how much we can accomplish simply by being nagged by our wives.
Now it's 2008. I started thinking that maybe this was my next bout of once-per-decade pneumonia. I'm already a year overdue. Now, unfortunately, my schedule is far too filled to arrange a funeral for myself. I can die now, I have a mortgage. Again a different kind of spiritual healing, this one driven by a mountain of debt on a guy who can't get life insurance because some doctor told my parents I should've been dead 35 years ago.
So I decided to get better. I took time off work. I coughed when I needed to cough. I drank lots of hot tea and apple juice. I took my medicine. And I slept about 16 hours a day. By the end of the week I was better and my wife was ready to kill me.
I'm back to work now, and writing more. Last night we paid our bills, and the first check I wrote... to the gas company... $1113.95. The second check was to the mortgage company... $1417.95. There is something sick about utilities that cost more than your home per month.
Well, I'm feeling better. Thanks for enduring my long story.
Labels: health, marriage, pets
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Ernie the Lizard's Trip to the Vet
I usually hate e-mail forwards, but this story is, well, priceless. It's just a matter of time until I have an experience similar in nature to this. I love pets, and I encourage my kids to love pets and care for them. We are working our way up to a dog, or a monkey if I have my way.
To all of those pet lovers, or haters, particularly those with children... enjoy.
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something was wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room. "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?" I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"
"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies."
"What???" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I said accusingly to my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!).
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her(in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to TELL on some guys, you know," she informed me (again-- with the sarcasm...).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," Iannounced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."
"Oh, gross!" they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know. We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly,I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma..." (You see a pattern herewith the females in my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
"Breathe, Ernie,breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze, dear" his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for goodness sake.).
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen . . . Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they. . . um . . . um . . . 'play'. Just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife. We were silent, absorbing this.
"So, Ernie's just ... just ... excited," my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears were now running down her face.
"It's just that . . (and then with the fingers) I'm picturing you pulling on its . . its . . . teeny little ..." She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more!
"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO~ idea, son." my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
To all of those pet lovers, or haters, particularly those with children... enjoy.
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something was wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room. "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?" I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"
"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies."
"What???" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I said accusingly to my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!).
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her(in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to TELL on some guys, you know," she informed me (again-- with the sarcasm...).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," Iannounced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."
"Oh, gross!" they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know. We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly,I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma..." (You see a pattern herewith the females in my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
"Breathe, Ernie,breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze, dear" his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for goodness sake.).
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen . . . Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they. . . um . . . um . . . 'play'. Just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife. We were silent, absorbing this.
"So, Ernie's just ... just ... excited," my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears were now running down her face.
"It's just that . . (and then with the fingers) I'm picturing you pulling on its . . its . . . teeny little ..." She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more!
"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO~ idea, son." my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
- Two lizards: $140.
- One cage: $50.
- Trip to the vet: $60.
- Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie for therest of your LIFE: Priceless!
Labels: Friday Funnies, pets
Monday, March 26, 2007
That's Not in My Job Description
Whenever you take a new job, make sure to read the job description thoroughly. Today two of the people who work for me realized that they should've done that. Nicole and Kyley got to remove a tick from my kitten's head.
A few months ago we got my daughter a kitten, which she named Dusty. This morning Dusty jumped up on Kyley's lap, and we discovered a little lump on his head. It was just a grayish white thing about the size of a grain of rice.
I did a quick Internet search, and realized it could be a tick. After reading "How to Remove a Tick from a Cat" we began the surgery.
If you've never removed a tick, here's how it's done.
What you'll need: tweezers, rubbing alcohol, a cotton swab, antibacterial ointment, a towel and soap.
A few months ago we got my daughter a kitten, which she named Dusty. This morning Dusty jumped up on Kyley's lap, and we discovered a little lump on his head. It was just a grayish white thing about the size of a grain of rice.I did a quick Internet search, and realized it could be a tick. After reading "How to Remove a Tick from a Cat" we began the surgery.
If you've never removed a tick, here's how it's done.
What you'll need: tweezers, rubbing alcohol, a cotton swab, antibacterial ointment, a towel and soap.
- First, get the towel and wrap it around your cat. It took two people to hold him down, because apparently the tick was a little bit painful. He also has claws, so Kyley's new sweater was the first casualty. (She should've read her job description, particularly the line about appropriate dress when removing ticks.)
- Next, grabbed the tick near the cat's scalp. You have to grab the tick by the head, which is usually buried in the skin. Pull it out slowly without twisting. If possible you want to remove the entire tick.
- After you remove the tick, drop it in a cup of rubbing alcohol. Flushing it down the toilet won't kill the tick.
- Use a cotton swab to put rubbing alcohol on the small wound. The wound will probably be a round hole, and somewhat swollen. It may be a little bloody.
- By now your cat will be freaking out. If you still have a good grip, add some of the antibacterial ointment.
- Now wash up. Use the rubbing alcohol to rinse the tweezers, and wash your hands thoroughly. Ticks carry very serious disease. While it's rare for humans to get them, they can cause death or worse.
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