Bummer. We have officially lost two to T-fly. Not only is it incredibly sad, it’s also horrifying to think about in a Sigourney Weaver Aliens way. That’s right, the nasty T-fly lays its eggs on/in the cat, and the larvae hatch and kill the host. And then, worst of all, I have to go on a hunt for the murderous little bastards. And, per The Internet, once I find them I’m supposed to squash them! SQUASH! As in, guts splattered.
I’m a mom. I can do body fluids. Poop, puke, boogies… Yep, all of it. I mean, of course it’s gross, and sure it would be swell if I could wave a magic wand and it would be handled, but life doesn’t work that way, does it? Like when you’re changing your infant and there’s an open-air Surprise Poop, or when your kid sharts for the first time. How about when you’re catching vomit in your bare hands so it doesn’t get on the couch? Yeah, that’s fun. And when your toddler sneezes a slime bomb and it’s oozing down their face and in their hair… All of that pales in comparison to the thought of crushing a Tachinid fly larvae, a monarch parasite, and hearing that body crunch and burst, and seeing its insides become its outsides.
Yuuuuuuuck.
Simply Sunlight 
[…] Disaster Strikes, part 2 […]
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