She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not—A Horror Story

Meet Jesse, my thirteen-year-old diabetic wonder cat. Here are some absolutely true fascinating facts about this here animule:

1) She was the runt of the second litter.
2) She was named after a penguin.
3) She had a black streak down her head as a kitten, very punk rock.
4) She was mentioned in my wedding vows.
5) She bites.

Last week I took her and her sister, the Fabulous Miss Sidney, to the vet for their yearly dose of torture, uh, shots. I pulled the J-cat out of her travel crate for her weigh-in; then I put her back in. I pulled the J-cat out for her shots and put her back in, again. Just as I was putting my peeved pet back in her carry around, the vet said, “What’s this about bumps on her skin?”



I stick my hand back in the cage and Jesse does a most impressive imitation of a rabid vampire. Trying to stay cool, I pull my hand out and continue to describe the size of these bumps without missing a beat. While I’m blabbering on about the size of the stuff they put in Beanie Babies, the vet looks at my hand and says, “OH MY GOD!”

Glancing down at my stinging paw, I see blood running down my fingers in a torrent, splattering all over my coat, jeans, and the floor. OMG!

Maintaining my coolness, I dart over to the sink and run the mess under cold water. Instead of stopping, the red rivulet keeps on keeping on and I’m seeing black thread and a needle in my future.



The doc finds me some gauze and tells me to hold the hand up. A vet tech comes in, lets me smear some bright blue bacteria cream on the wounds, and wraps my hand up, nice and tight. They send me home, Jesses’s bumps be damned, and tell me to get medical attention ASAP—a ten day stint of swallowing antibiotic pills bigger than my cat. Yowza.

So how do you handle the sight of blood?

A: I can eat steak tartare while watching Saw VI
B: Bunnicula scarred me for life

But seriously folks, cat bites can put you in the hospital. If Fluffy-Muggins sinks her fangs into you, don’t just laugh it off.