Of fleas, worms, and other useless worries...

...or, how a little worm led to a mysterious washing-machine plumbing problem

Warning: this post is long and contains some objectionable material that may be disgust-forming to some readers, and may cause others to inexplicably start scratching their heads (and toes, and shoulders, and knees).



I had a very interesting week, and now that it's over, can look back and laugh. So I thought it only proper to share a glimpse into my paranoia with anyone misguided enough to read past the first paragraph.

It all started on Monday with an odd little creature called a tapeworm. In my cat. In my house. Poor Emma. The cat with the dislocated tail somehow caught one, and it was time to face reality. I had suspected for some time that something fishy (ok, wormy) was going on, and finally decided to grasp the cat by the tail and really take this seriously. So I did what I always do with a serious question: I went to Google.

Wednesday found me at the pet clinic, trying to help the vet give my hissing, spitting, biting kitty an apparently painful and terrifying shot. So much for the tapeworm.

Paranoia step #1.
Now tapeworms in cats are carried by fleas, but how did my fastidious, indoor-only kitty find a flea? And why did the ever-dignified Mr. Knightley not catch the same parasite? So began a scouring of my place from top to bottom. According to some very professional-looking web resources, tapeworms are only caught by ingesting fleas or rodents. Suggestions for detection of fleas followed (rodents are pretty well recognizable to the naked eye, and the closest thing to a live rodent my cats have seen are giant squirrels in their dreams, or me eating a carrot).

The vet combed Emma's coat, with no evidence of fleas. At home, I inspected her skin, checked her bed for "salt and pepper grains" (flea dirt), watched both cats for excessive scratching, and asked them if they recognized the flea's mug shot on my computer. Nope. So I continued with my laundry. You can't tell me that you wouldn't wash all your blankets, etc. after an encounter with a tapeworm, harmless though it might be.

Paranoia stage #2.
Emma was flea-free, but what about Mr. K? I had already inspected him and his bed for tapeworm and/or fleas. Nothing. Then I took my glasses off and inspected his blanket (no, I'm not getting older - I just need new glasses). I saw little black and yellow specks. Really. I got worried. Into the washing machine with you, offending blanket!

Just to make sure I wasn't being paranoid (my logic drive was obviously already malfunctioning), I did what the web had suggested. I took some water, poured it over the blanket, and waited for the specks to behave like little dried blood bits. The water poured off like the blanket was made out of teflon. So I got more water, and poured it on again. This time I contained more of the water, but the results were inconclusive. The specks didn't change.

After washing, I took the blanket out, took my glasses off again, and looked closely. Black and yellow specks still in place. Not flea dirt! So far, so good.

Paranoia step #3.
Just when I thought the saga was over, with the last load of laundry in the drier, I made a disturbing discovery. Water in the carpet in the doorway of my laundry cupboard. Not just a couple of drops, but enough to squish my toes into. Small panic.

Strange thing, though. There was no water on the floor around the washing machine, no soap bubbles, no evidence the water had come from the machine at all. But where in the world could the water have come from? And was there enough that it would have gone into the apartment below mine? Or did it come from the apartment above me and travel through the walls (a real possibility, if history is any kind of a teacher)? I went to bed.

The mystery solved.
Yes, it was solved, but only after about 24 hours of worrying. After work on Thursday, I did a load of laundry and stood there in front of the machine, with a flashlight in one hand and a Magic Shammy in the other. Have you ever wondered how long a load of laundry takes when you're watching it and waiting for water to come spewing out? I don't have to anymore. Of course, if you've been reading the above carefully, you will have already guessed what happened.

No water came from the washing machine. It didn't dawn on me until I was putting Mr. K's now-clean-and-dry blanket back on the couch where he likes it. Blanket - specks - flea dirt suspicion - water to test - more water to test - water rolling off blanket - carpet getting wet - me forgetting about the water in my worry about fleas - brought on by my worry about tapeworms - what a nut am I!


So the only question that remains is, could Emma have caught a tapeworm by eating a silverfish?


"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? ... Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
- Matthew 6:27,34