Lesson One: don't let go of a really pissed-off cat.
Trust me on this.
Charlie wasn't available to do his usual brilliant photo styling for this post, so I apologize for the blurry above. I wanted you to get an idea of what can happen if you lose your grip.
Kitty survived our veterinary ministrations with a clean bill of health, no small thing for a feral cat. As you know, feral is Latin for a cat with anger issues. He prefers to bring down boar and wildebeest for dinner rather than submit to vaccines, a blood draw and a mani/pedi. He is liquid cunning and able to leap off vet techs at Mach 5.
I hadn't realized I had been wounded until my sleeve turned crimson. I don't think I cried excessively.
Lesson Two: don't leave home without Neosporin. And tuck in some latex-free bandages while you're at it. Shin guards from your field hockey days, yanked up your forearms, would be helpful. Followed by a cat-proof coat.
Also, it's a good idea to pay attention to the cat, not the needles, the diagnosis or the artwork in the hall. Because you have one job and one job only, which is to just hold the cat.
(No cats were harmed in the making of this blog post, although I thought about it.)
|With profound thanks to graphic genius Mike Haidley,|
who created a PERFECT replica of the 4 pounds of
supercharged protoplasm that tried to kill me last week.
Claws are a little small, but you get the idea.
Thanks, Mikey. You rock.