My roommate’s cat has fleas, which means I have fleas.  Hopefully after today, I had fleas.  

His cat, Haresh, has been scratching and biting at himself for about a week.  The liquid medicine and the pill flea killer has not been working effectively on him, so my roommate, lets call him Juan, decided that we needed to bomb the house and asked me if I would hold on to Haresh in the car while we relocate him to our work for 3 hours.  When you set off a flea bomb in your house, you have to stay off the premises until it is aired out, no running back in because you forgot your keys or something - there are poisonous fumes dancing around.  Being the kind, gentle-hearted, saint-like, caring soul that I am, I said it was no problem.  

Cut to Haresh clinging onto my t-shirt for dear life, silently panting like a banshee in my lap as we came to the first stop light on our short drive to work.  The little shit stayed cool calm and collected until, apparently, the sight of a cloud was enough to warrant a death cry from the bellows of his belly - and -  ”Oh my God, is he peeing on me?  IS HE PEEING ON ME?!”   Yes.  Yes he was.  A hot, smelly stream of piss, from his crotch to mine.  Mind you I am on my way to work with no spare shorts to hop into. 

So I got out of the car with the terrified cat bawling so hard I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel…with hot pee running into places where other creature’s pee is not supposed to run into.  Luckily, Juan was kind enough to buy me some temp. shorts (lavender swimming trunks) to swap for my pee pee pants.  Needless to say, on the way home, we wrapped the babe in a towel with a protective layer of trash bag below.

So if you have to transport your cat somewhere without a cat carrier, cover all your bases.  And please, protect your privates.  Use a trash bag.