With a towel wrapped around his face like an ill-prepared bank robber, Michael stands in the living room on his apartment. He picks up two metal canisters from the table in front of him, and begins to shake them vigorously. Looking down at an empty box also on the table, he reads out loud.
"Shake can before use. Aiming away from eyes and face- no shit- push down on the locking tab. Leave room immediately."
Michael looks around the room as he continues shaking the cans. It looks like we're getting ready to move out. The couch is on the vinyl flooring of the kitchen, its cushions removed and leaning up against the arm rests. All of the appliances and "other ignition sources" in the room have been unplugged. All of the windows are closed, and the air conditioner sits dormant near the corner.
The two canisters hold hopefully-lethal doses of chemicals and propellants used to combat the growing flea problem in the house. Empty cans of topical flea sprays litter the floor in front of the trash can, evidence of previous failed attempts at domestic insecticide. Frustration has been building within these walls, and the breaking point has been reached.
This is where it ends.
Resting one of the cans on the table, Michael cautiously presses down on the small tab on the top of the can. A thick white spray surges out and towards his face! He quickly leans back to avoid getting hit with the toxic flea chemicals. The smell is horrible, and he can feel his throat tightening up. Quickly, on the other side of the apartment Michael places down and activates another can. He takes one last look at the apartment before exiting.
They look like fountains, he thinks. Fountains of death.
He slams the door behind him, and sets his watch timer for two hours.
"And now we wait." Michael says with determination.
A thick haze hangs in the air, like fog after a humid afternoon. A lone figure can be seen racing around the room, frantically opening windows and turning on fans. He pauses in the center of the room and rests his hands on his knees, and lets out a wheezing cough. After recovering, he staggers to the front door of the apartment, and exits.
Michael and The Boss cautiously enter the apartment. It smells strongly of chemicals, but the air is clear and safe to breathe. After placing the cat in the bathroom, they begin their inspection.
"So far, so good." The Boss calls out from the bedroom. "I'm not finding any flea's in here."
"Same goes for out here, too. I think we finally got 'em!"
Michael begins vacuuming the carpets in the apartment as The Boss sprays down the couch again. The insecticide foggers seemed to have done their job. It's about damn time. They continue putting the apartment back together, working silently but efficiently. Before long, everything looks back to normal.
"Let's get out of here and get some food. I'm fuckin' starved." says Michael, grabbing his keys.
"Me, too. Let's go." The Boss agrees. Together, they leave the apartment.
The apartment, once the scene of a flea breeding ground, is now the scene of a flea massacre of epic proportions. It is safe once again.
The flea problem The Boss and I had seems to be under control. The foggers helped immensely, but we still have some stragglers. If I had to make an estimate, I would say that we had an 85% kill rate with the foggers. I'm not too fond of using harsh chemicals, but we had to do something. We used Frontline on the cat, and we've noticed a dramatic change just from that. The remaining fleas we have are ones that were in the carpet and the couch, presumably out of the range of the fogger. We're going to do another round of fogging this weekend.
Since our cat is strictly indoors, we were puzzled as to how we could have got fleas in the first place. We then thought back a few months, when we got the couch we have now. We got it used from Goodwill, and we think that the couch was infested. Bringing it into the home only made it worse and allowed it to spread. If the fogging treatment doesn't work again, we'll be getting rid of the couch.
So far, we've spent over $125 on various flea treatments and medications. That includes the $50 we spent at the laundromat, washing all of our clothes, bedding, towels, or any fabric surface that we could find. If nothing else, this problem is getting expensive.