It all began after church when my husband Bo and I started assigning which of the eight bug bombs spread throughout our house we would set off first before heading off to spend a couple of hours in Bowling Green. He would start with the attic and I was to begin with the den. We had prepared for the event by covering all electronics and removing all opened food. My mother, who is allergic to cats, found it in her heart to offer her spare bedroom to my cat, "Putsy Puts," since bug bombs can kill more than bugs.
I had taken the pillows and some blankets out to my husband's truck and loaded up the litter box and cat food into my car and was ready to begin the process to which I was assigned. My husband and I climbed the steps and took our positions. I must admit I was a little excited about the covert bombing as I stood beside my target and waited for Bo's cue. After he gave the go-ahead, I snapped the plastic release guard on the bomb as if I were pulling a pin on a hand grenade then I pushed down on the button and released the poisonous gas. It was so cool.... at first.
It didn't take long for us to complete the upstairs and down we flew to set off the rest before fleeing the chemical-fogged house. There was only one problem facing us as we came to the last bomb in the living room.... I realized I had forgotten to get the cat. Can you believe that?
"The cat"... I screamed as the fog began choking us both. I forgot the cat! I learned a few things about myself that day. The first, of course, was how stupid I can be and the other is I didn't realize I could move that fast up those steps. For the past 11 years I have always lagged up those steps, acting as if I had to climb Mt. Everest I now realized I can get to the top in about two strides.
Only about the time I got to the top the cat, scared out of her wits, went flying past me going in the opposite direction. When I realized what was happening- the house by this time was filled with a poisonous cloud- I slid back down the stairs screaming to Bo that the cat was heading his way. Well, if you know anything about my husband that statement was lost in the fog somewhere with the cat. He has always said he can't believe he allows an animal which... well... to put it gently, goes potty in a box in his house.
She went behind the couch only to escape our clutches once again and, of course, go back upstairs once again. We didn't follow at first because we had to escape to catch our breaths. So out the door we ran coughing and me, of course, screaming in disbelief that I had probably killed our cat.
I flew back into the house and leaped the steps once again as if I were a fireman rescuing a baby from a burning building. I put a pillow over my face and even got a wet towel but neither gave much relief. After a couple of times searching I fell back outside spitting and coughing and unsuccessful.
My husband asked my what I wanted to do. The only thing I knew to do was to open all the windows and maybe that would give the cat a chance. Back in we both went, running to each window, flinging them open, hoping to save the cat and inadvertently the spiders.
I finally found her just a few minutes later huddled in my daughter's closet. She was a little shaken up but no worse for the wear. I'm happy to say we all have seemed to survive the bombing.