Pizza Injury

Pizza is about ten years old at this point. He's one of my mother's cats, a very friendly and very aggressive tomcat, who's never been fixed. He's getting on in years, but I've seen him take on dogs four times his size. He likes a good, rough petting.

If I hold my hand several inches over his head, he'll rear up on his hind legs and grab my arm with both paws and pull my hand to a particular spot on his head, as if to say, "Right there, right there!" He's one of the best cats I've ever known.

He has a serious flea problem, though. And dry skin, so he's always digging and scratching and chewing on himself. My mother has tried all varieties of powders, collars, and lotions, nothing works for very long, if at all. The vet said there's nothing else for it: cat needs a periodic flea bath.

So, a few months ago, my mother and I, aided by our good friend Alicia, set out to give Pizza a bath. We got some Hart's flea shampoo from PetCo, and filled the bathtub to an inch deep of warm water. My mother had a body harness that looked like it was designed for a toy dog or something, but it fit Pizza OK. I just wondered how it would hold during the ensuing struggle. See, that's what I like about cats (or one of the things, anyway): much more so than any other mammalian pet--certainly more than dogs--a cat is clearly a wild animal. A wild animal that has struck up a fortunate and endearing symbiotic relationship with humans, but a wild animal nonetheless. And its feral nature is on display several times during any given day.

I love cats. I definitely have a cat-nature.

Anyway, cats have a thing about getting wet, so I knew this wasn't going to be easy. It went OK, that first time, even though he did struggle quite a bit, between the three of us and the Rainmaker shower wand we were able to apply an appropriate amount of flea shampoo, and then get it rinsed or washed off, without any injury (other than psychological) to Pizza, and no flesh wounds for any of the rest of us.

After it was over, he just lounged on the towels on the bathroom counter, purring and licking himself clean of his bath. Didn't resent any of us, or even balk at the running water in the sink next to him, as each of us washed off. In fact, I think he watched me a bit more closely as I washed my hands, as if for the first time understanding what it was that us humans did so routinely. Remember, he's ten years old and never had a bath before; he probably thought we were trying to kill him, somehow.

That was a few months ago. Time for another bath. And this one didn't go so well.

This time, when we put the harness on him, I think he knew what was coming. I got him into the tub OK, but he started fighting immediately, of course. Things were going well, until one of his paws got loose, and he lashed out and got me in the elbow of my left arm. Not much flesh there, but he got one claw in, and it took me a second or so to extricate. Then he lashed out again, this time getting me on the inner forearm.

Guess it doesn't matter much that Pizza has an unusual birth defect: six claws on both forepaws, rather than the usual five. As it was, three of the six said claws got into the skin of my arm, and hooked in good. As he continued to struggle about, he pulled on my flesh. I looked down, to see the skin of my left forearm pulled out by about an inch and a half or two. The first thing I thought of was a documentary I saw on National Geographic Channel a few months ago, on the horrible practice of suspension. If you're at all squeamish, don't follow that link. I'm not squeamish, really, but goddamn. Let's just say that scene in LAST KING OF SCOTLAND wasn't foolin'. People really do that sort of thing--voluntarily, now--and survive. And, at this particular moment, my favorite fucking cat was doing it to me. And it fuckin' hurt.

Well, I got his claws out of me, and continued with the bath. I was disconcerted that the puncture wounds didn't bleed out. One of the things I'd picked up among my medical studies is that wounds are less likely to get infected if they bleed out. Puncture wounds are particularly troublesome, since whatever contagion imparted gets trapped when the wound closes over; wounds that bleed out may very well drain off the infectious agent. And here I was, three deep puncture wounds awash in flea shampoo and cat dander.

I washed off with soap and water--with Pizza there like I said last time, just happy as he could be on the towels on the bathroom counter, no trouble with me at all. And no understanding that he just inflicted a deep wound on me. Washed it further with isopropyl alcohol, then with peroxide. Seems to be doing OK, though it's starting to bruise. Don't think any infection took hold. But I have what looks to be needle tracks on the inside of my left forearm. And since I scar very easily, I'm wondering how long this junkie look is going to last.