Just another tale of woe and injury involving yours truly.

Well so far, it’s been a bad year for pinkies, for me anyway.

Not too long ago around Christmas time, we decided to get a little kitten for Anna. Figuring that she had recently turned eight and was willing to take on the responsibility of feeding the little critter and tending to her litter box needs, the kitten would make for some good company.

At first it didn’t start out that way, the cat (named Spice) had been a little shy and withdrawn when we first got it home. It would hardly make an appearance and seemed quite content to sit in the bathroom and wait to be fed. I didn’t know what to attribute this type of behavior to. Maybe it was because it had been a cat shelter for quite awhile and had been surrounded by other cats or maybe it was just asserting its “cathood” and couldn’t be bothered with such minor details as human beings. Maybe it was the “trauma” she experienced by leaving the shelter. Who knows and for that matter, who cares? The cat has overcome whatever was plaguing her and has taken full control of the house. This was a good thing and was greeted by both me and borgette with a sense of relief.

Until last Monday.

Nothing tragic mind you. The cat isn’t sick or injured. It didn’t run away or get stuck in the cold. It just sorta “asserted” itself.

I was sitting in my recliner, idly playing with the beast with the ever popular piece of string that cats seem to find so fascinating when, after awhile, we both got bored and the cat wandered off in search of who knows what. I, on the other hand, decided to remain where I was and focus on whatever was on the television. After about 10 or 15 minutes, the tv began to have its usual narcotic effect on me and I began to doze off. It was about this time that the cat decided it wasn’t through “playing.”

At first I felt her wrap her paws around my right wrist (which was dangling down the side of the chair) and sorta grab me. Naturally, this roused my from my stupor and my reaction was such that I quickly raised my hand away in order to avoid being scratched. My cat’s reaction to this was to sink her fangs into might right pinky and take a decent chunk of skin with her. As the blood started flowing and the cursing got louder, the cat vanished upstairs.

I commenced to the kitchen sink where I proceeded to wash, disinfect, and dress my injured digit. It was then off to bed and all was right with the world. (Or so I thought.)

The next day arrived with little fanfare. My finger was bit swollen and red but didn’t hurt all that much. I made my way off to work and started in on my usual routine. It wasn’t until about noon that things started going sour.

My hand was generating heat and looked as red as a lobster. It was sore as hell and was starting to swell up. My co-workers were encouraging me to get it looked and I, not having a family doctor and being a brave soul, tried to brush it off.

A couple of hours later and it wasn’t long before I was in the emergency room of a local hospital. By that time, my injured paw had almost doubled in size and the redness was beginning to spread up my arm. I was eventually hooked up to an IV loaded with antibiotics. There was some talk of admitting me overnight. A little later, a doctor came by and cut an incision my pinky and in my lower hand in order to drain whatever infection had taken hold. It was later determined that whatever germs resided on my cat’s teeth had given me a bad case of Cellulitis.

A couple of hours later, I was discharged with a bandage about the size of Rhode Island wrapped around my hand. After getting a couple of prescriptions filled, and being the clear-headed individual that I am, I made my way to my local watering hole where I proceeded to regale the assorted patrons with the story. Naturally, they being the good friends that they are, greeted my tale with skepticism and scorn. Many thought that they would be embarrassed to blame all of this on a little cat and suggested that I re-rearrange the details and blame my injury on either a mountain lion or saber tooth tiger. Not getting what I was looking for in the way of sympathy, I made my way home.

This was a week ago folks. The antibiotics have kicked in and my hand seems to have returned to its normal size. The redness is gone but some pain still persists in the inch or so gash that now adorns my right wrist. My pinky is stiff and sore and there is some speculation that some nerve damage might have been done. I’ll find that out this Thursday after my doctors visit.

In retrospect, I’m sure I’m going to incur some kind of cost for all of this and that’s okay. However, if any of you are, such as myself, avid golfers, and have read about the other incident involving my left pinky, its sure to be a strange year. Oh well, at least I’ll have something to blame my shitty shots on.