Is my blood the equivelent of soda?
My parents have always loved cats, and I've grown up with them. There's always been a cat in the house, besides this summer. But I always have the same problem: I get eaten alive by fleas. The bites themselves range in size, from the size of a dime to the size of a quater and are impossible to ignore. Right now, I have about 70 bites total, open or not, minus the ones I can't see. They attack me more than anyone else in the house and I have open sores on my legs. I can't walk around in shorts because people stare. So, apparently, I'm delicious. Is it normal?