Jellical Songs for Jellical Cats

Miz Shoes is sorry to report that last night’s date with the couch, the martinis and the Bitches and Hos was pre-empted by an altercation in the front yard involving the Noble Dog Nails, JoJo of Very Little Brain, a feral black momma cat and her kittens. Before you perish from the thought, no kittens were harmed in this tale.

There is a wonderful expanse of ferns in the southeast corner of my yard. Giant ferns with tunnels and caves of green. A perfect hiding place for fairies, I think, and so I encouraged the ferns to grow around a tree, over a giant slab of coral rock and the mounds of sand and rock that were the result of quarrying my koi pond. It is a perfect hiding place, as proved by the feral (and here’s an interesting thing: nobody at the emergency room understood the word “feral” even though they were possessed of advanced degrees. At least one would like to believe that nurses have advanced degrees.) cat who had her litter in those very nice green caves.

Another reason to believe that this is a most excellent hiding place is the fact that Nails and JoJo hadn’t found the kittens until last night. It was dusk, and the RLA was taking the recyclables out. The dogs went out with him. And then, the noise! The howls! The hisses! I leapt up and ran out of the house to the front yard where Nails and a black cat were going at it (excuse me) tooth and nail. And JoJo was diving into the ferns. And the RLA was yelling at them all to break it up. We got JoJo out of the way, the black cat beat a hasty retreat over the fence, and I pried a small Jellical kitten off of Nails’ face. I couldn’t quite tell if it was clinging to Nails or Nails had hold of it, but I dropped the little thing over the fence and we all adjourned to the kitchen to assay the damages. JoJo was fine. Nails had a lot of blood on his face and a pair of fang holes in his ear. We washed him off and I couldn’t find the source of the blood (could have been his nose) so I went back out to check for damaged kittens.

I found the nest under the coral rock, and heard rustling in the ferns. So someone was still there and doing fine. The kitteh I’d dropped over the fence was now back inside and trying to get to her nest. She was terrified, tiny and adorable. Well, I’m the cat whisperer, so I figured I’d calm her down and check if that clumpy wet spot on her side was dog spit or worse. I had a towel and some kitty kibbles and I was able to touch her little head, ever so gently, so I reached in for the grab.

She appeared to be fine and unharmed, because she immediately sunk her tiny, needle-sharp milk teeth into my thumb, all the way to the bone. When a tiny kitteh is attached like that, you want to not shake it off, because chunks of thumb flesh will go with it. You sort of have to let it unlatch on its own time schedule. Which I did, and then hightailed it back to the kitchen to scrub out the wound, and, this being the 21st century, Google “feral cat bite”. I there discovered what I already knew, but did not want to consider or admit: cats, especially feral cats, have the dirtiest mouths in the animal kingdom, second pretty much only to alligators. Swell.

I also remembered the story of an ex-friend of mine who had been bitten by her own, indoor cat. She’s a nurse, mind you, and she washed her thumb well and went to bed. She woke up the next morning with a thumb the size of a tennis ball, red streaks running up her arm and a fever. She spent the next three days hooked up to an IV of antibiotics in the hospital. So.

I went to the ER, where, when anyone hears the two words cat and bite in the same sentence, they start to shake their head and tell you that infection is inevitable. And bad. And that probably rabies shots are in order. And possibly tetanus. And I sat and sat and sat and sat. I made the security guard change the channel on the waiting room tv. He had to poll the entire room. One old gomer wanted CNN, but after I explained what I wanted to watch (young girls who want to be models) he started chanting “Mo-dels! Mo-dels!” and so I got to see (but not hear) part of ANTM, and then I got called away to fill out paper work, and missed most of the show.

Now I have four tiny little puncture wounds on my right thumb, a scrip for serious antibiotics and another for the certain side effect yeast infection, and a decision to make about calling animal control to remove the cat and her babies. My tetanus shot was up to date… thanks to Frankenpinkie two years ago, and it turns out rabies is only likely if bitten by a possum, a raccoon or a bat(!).

And that is the story of why Miz Shoes can’t tell you anything more about ANTM than the girl from Ocala (Seminole for pissant town on the edge of the swamp) got sent home for being neither pretty nor good teevee.

Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 10/04 at 10:29 AM in Life? Don’t Talk to Me About Life.

(3) Comments
#1. Posted by TN GEO on October 04, 2007

My mother’s from Ocala!

#2. Posted by Loida on October 04, 2007

I’m delighted the bite was not treated with a series of shots. I thought the incident was unfortunate, but created, none the less, bits of giggles. I really like your website. Out of all the stress and inevitable hospital wait, at least you have made a companion in your writing. I’m desperate to watch the show so that I can catch up with the hilarious descriptions you gave me. Thanks so much!

#3. Posted by terry on October 09, 2007

Well! *sniff* I can always go to fourfour for my recaps, you know.

I can’t imagine that something ELSE would get in the way of ANTM for you, but if that’s the way you’re going to be about it, I shall flounce off, never to darken these doors again.

See you on Thursday, I hope.

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