I love my cat, really I do.
So last night, while cooking dinner, I decided to let the cat hang out on the back porch. It's an enclosed porch, with screens and louver windows. He likes to watch the birds and bunnies and butterflies, or to crunch the crickets. (I appear to be infected with alliteration. Forgive me.)
It's around 8pm, so the sun has set. The cat is on the porch, I'm standing over a hot stove. The cat stops going after crickets and is now on his hind legs, pawing at the screen on one side. He drops and moves over and frantically paws again. I assume he's going after a moth or something on the other side.
He keeps doing this, and now there's a quality to it that seems different, more than the usual "I want to kill and eat that bug!" I figure maybe there's a bunny or other cat outside.
In retrospect, I realize that the porch light had come on. The motion sensor doesn't pick up the cat--he's too small. And it doesn't pick up ME until I'm right at the door. So whatever was outside was larger than the cat and at least briefly came up to the door. I'm guessing it was the local fox, who I later heard calling.
ANYWAY, the cat is clearly agitated. I've mentioned before how he has no "flight" reflex: he's all FIGHT FIGHT BRING IT ON BIOTCH. I worry that he'll rev himself up to the point where he either (a) springs the latch on the back door and busts out, or (b) does serious damage to the screens and perhaps busts out that way.
I go out to shoo him back into the house. I bend down, saying, "Come on, get back inside," and nudge him with the back of my hand.
FULL BUZZSAW BERSERKER MODE. He screams (ever heard a cat scream?) and launches onto my arm with all four paws plus teeth. Gnawing, slashing, full-freak-out! Naturally I stand up and try to pull my arm back, and now there's a 14+-pound cat wrapped around my forearm, hanging from my arm by his claws hooked into my flesh, thrashing and kicking and chomping.
It wasn't terribly long, but it was long enough. I had presence of mind not to try to shake him off, which would probably have flayed my arm given how deep his claws were sunk. After a second or two, he lets go (or falls off), and I see I'm pretty badly fucked up. I run my arm under the water in the sink, and hoo boy, there's a lot of blood. (The cat, meanwhile, is back at the screen, threatening whatever is on the other side.)
My second presence-of-mind moment: I turn off the stove so dinner won't burn.
After rinsing my arm, I go to get the cat back inside, this time using the broom to push him in. He's not happy but he goes. I think at this point he actually understands what I'm feeling, because I am SWEARING LIKE WHOA at him. If a parent spoke to their child like that, CPS would come take the kid away from them.
Arm is still bleeding. My entire forearm, from fingers to an inch below the elbow, is covered with gashes. More water. Antibiotic ointment (which helps stop the bleeding). Paper towels and veterinary wrap to hold it. (Want to see something hilarious? Ask someone to bandage their own forearm of their dominant hand!)
I finish dinner (and excellent shrimp and green bean risotto, green beans from my garden, thanks) while on the phone with swimtech, freaking out a bit and debating whether I should go to the emergency room. I decide that I'll wait until morning and if it looks infected then I'll go to my regular doctor.
Well, morning comes, and there are clearly three spots that are swollen beyond "You got lacerated and you skin isn't happy about it." One of those spots in particular is very nasty. So to the doctor, who says, "Wow, this is really bad for being only 12 hours ago. Yes, we're putting you on 10 days of antibiotic and a tetanus shot." Official count: 23 deep gashes, 3 of which are clearly infected (they were puncture wounds). We don't even know which were claws and which were teeth.
I look as if I put my arm through a window and then into a hive of grumpy bees. Those are going to be some very exciting scars!