23/ Cat Attack

Helen’s comment reminded me of something scary from about 30 years ago. We had multiple pets at the time, including indoor cats and cats that lived in a large heated room in the barn. Houdini was a one-person cat, and that person was my daughter Gillian. They were devoted. He usually lived in the house (in her room), but for some reason he was with the barn cats while Jill was out of town performing with Regional Band. She asked me to bring him back to the house, and “Be sure to use a cat carrier.”

Well, smart Mommy didn’t think she needed a carrier. She knew how to handle cats; after all, she’d handled enough of them. I picked up Houdini, a very large B&W male, and carried him across the road. This went well until he spotted one of our dogs trotting toward us. Panicked, he tried desperately to jump out of my arms. I knew if I let go he’d take off like a shot, very possibly never to be seen again. I couldn’t give Jill that news, so I hung on. 

In desperation, Houdini ripped into my hands with his claws and teeth. The pain. The blood. My screams. But I hung on, running to the house. Suzanne had the door open for me, and I dropped Houdini and ran to the kitchen sink. My hands were swelling already, and the two of us tried hard to get my wedding ring off. I finally succeeded. Yes, cats’ mouths are as full of bacteria as they say. A couple of rounds of antibiotics saved my right index finger from bone infection. Someone said my hands looked like I’d caught them in a lawnmower. They felt that way too. But when Jill got home, her cat was waiting for her. And most of her mother.

Jill and Houdini