Do you have a hobby that people might not relate to? There’s a certain satisfaction I feel whenever I hear that tick sound coming from... well, the flea itself, whenever I unalive it (see what I did there?). The flea comes from my dachshund, and the rest are from my ten cats. YES, I HAVE TEN CATS. Even though I’m not their sole owner, I’ve taken it upon myself to be their official “flea remover.”

It starts with touch. My fingers glide through soft fur, searching not just for comfort but for something more sinister. I know the terrain well: the warm curve of a belly, the dense fluff behind the ears, and the hidden valleys between shoulder blades. My cats trust me, stretching out in lazy surrender as I begin my inspection. It’s a moment of connection, of mutual understanding. They know I’m not just petting them—I’m protecting them.

When I find a flea, it’s never a surprise. There’s a rhythm to this process, a slow and focused attention that feels almost therapeutic. I pinch the tiny offender between my fingers, careful not to let it escape. Then comes the moment of truth: the crush. It’s quick, final, and oddly satisfying. A small pop, a sense of victory. One less parasite in the world. One more moment of peace for my cat.

Fleas are a delicate operation, but when it’s done, I feel a wave of relief. The flea is gone. My cat is safe. And I’ve done something that matters, even if it’s small.

This ritual has become more than just pest control. It’s a form of care—a way to show love through action. It’s also a kind of mindfulness. In those moments, I’m not thinking about work, stress, or the endless scroll of daily life. I’m present. I’m focused. I’m doing something real. It’s also my screen-free time. It usually takes me around 30 minutes to an hour almost every single day (and to be honest, I do it whenever I get the chance. Sorry, cats!).

If I got paid for each flea I’ve removed, I’d be rich by now. Can someone hire me to pick fleas from their cats? Should I post about it or put up a sign?

Some might find this habit odd, even grotesque. But for me, it’s a quiet joy—a strange, satisfying ritual that blends care, concentration, and calm. My cats purr beside me, blissfully unaware of the tiny battles I fight on their behalf. And I, in turn, find peace in the process—one flea at a time.