So, folks who know me fall into two categories, those who knew me before 'the cat bite incident' of '91-'92 and those I met afterwards.
The short version: I got bitten by a frightened cat I was trying to get out from under a house, and a fang went into the middle joint of my left index finger. I got septic blood poisoning (red streaks going up the veins in my arm) and ended up sending thirteen days in the hospital hooked up to a saline drip, undergoing multiple operations on the finger, several sessions in a hyperbaric chamber, and a few months of physical therapy after my release, not to mention having to re-teach myself touch-typing for my daily work at a word processor.
So, you can no doubt appreciate our alarm when last night one of our cats suddenly bit me on the same finger, with a fang going in deep. Luckily it just missed the end joint (that is, the joint that still works). The end of the finger is numb but otherwise seems okay; typing is a little self-conscious but seems like no real harm was done. Luckily my priority the rest of this week is more proofing.
And yes, the cat is fine. It wasn't really his fault; I'd picked him up unexpectedly and must have touched a tender spot, causing him to lash out while he was squirming to get down. He's the gentlest of our three cats, and we've already made up. Meanwhile, Janice and I will be watching the finger as if we were crows and it was an unclaimed peanut.
Plague Books: Operative
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