This one time at Writer's Camp…
I got tore up today and, as usual, it was all my fault.
Wally (cat #2) was brawling with Casper (cat #1) in the dining room. Usually I ignore it, because A) Casper’s never really hurt Wally, and B) someone’s in charge, and as soon as Wally realizes that it’s not him, the house will be much quieter.
Now, Casper is 25″ long at weighs in at 13 pounds. Big, lean kitty with no tail, no front claws (not my doing; I adopted him that way) and a good left paw swipe. Wally is 15″ long and weighs in at 8 pounds. He has all his claws, his tail, and a willingness to remain ignorant about the term “size disadvantage”. The usual recipe for this fight is kick, bite, yowl and Wally ends up running away.
Today, though, Casper was in a mood and refused to let him get away. Wally actually sounded like he was getting hurt, so I (stupidly) stepped in and pulled Casper away. He swiped at me and I (again, stupidly) though he was trying to play. At least, that was my thought before his 3″ fangs tore into my hand.
I was surprised. We’d rough housed before, but this was the first time he drew blood. He drew a lot of blood. I got the bleeding stopped (little puncture wounds take forever to stop bleeding). By this time Casper, realizing that he was in deep trouble, ran to the kitchen and proceeded to… glare at me.
Note: when a cat with two different colored eyes glares at you, you notice.
I wasn’t sure if he was in a mood, scared, or just pissed. Being one with experience living with cats, I figured pissed covered it and proceeded to make a peace offering of chicken. He accepted and five minutes later was rubbing against my shins.
An hour later he was lying in bed with me, partially covering the book I was reading and being a typical cat once more.
Yeah, the bite still burns. But it has been cleaned, so I won’t die from it.
No, he’ll get me when I’m asleep or, better still, when I’m walking down a Dallas street one day.