Oh Kitty, Where is Thy Sting?

Dan here.

One of the pervasive elements of country life is stray kitties. Absent a predator (like our old dog Pepper), they tend to just show up and stay. And then have kittens. And then their kittens grow up and have kittens. And pretty soon you have a whole inbred batch on your hands, acting wierd and swarming around like mosquitos in a Minnesota swamp. In July.

They want food. All the time. They try to sneak in the house. They swarm all around your feet. They put pawprints all over the car. They get in the way under the car. And they even get in the car. It's enough to drive a person insane, especially because they can't make up their mind if they're tame or not, with schitzophrenic results. They love you, because you have food. But at the same time they hate you because you're big, and frankly you look kinda funny.

As of this very evening, Joy's slow transition from cat-lover into despiser of all things feline is likely now complete. What was to be a routine chicken coop run to fetch eggs this evening turned into something out of a bad horror movie. As Joy returned to the house, I heard the door slam shut, followed by her agonized panting, "the cats!" The tone of her voice betrayed fear. I thought for a moment whether I should grab the gun, then thought better of it and came to her aid instead.

As it turns out, the swarm had followed her out to the coop, expecting a treat of some sort. Instead of feeding the cats, however, she grabbed a scoop of chicken grains. This is where the schitzophrenic Dr. Jeykll-and-Mr.Hyde bit comes in. One of the kitties had gotten into the coop and was in the same corner as the grains. The creature, docile only a moment earlier, felt cornered and attacked.

As Joy staggered into the house (okay, she walked just fine, but "staggered" gives the story more of a punch), we surveyed the damages. Through her jeans, there were bleeding clawmarks. No biggie. But then the coup d'etat: four puncture wounds, with purple marks under the skin connecting them. The telltale signs of fangs.

Recalling an earlier post on prudence, off Joy went to the emergency room, where she is at this very moment, getting a tetanus update and a good inspection.

There is also the rabies consideration in mind. Stray cats don't exactly get themselves vaccinated. It sounds like animal control will be paying us a visit tomorrow and rounding up all our cats (except Stewart!) for a ten-day quarantine, since Joy doesn't know exactly which cat it was that did the damage.

Yes, it's just another day on the farm.

Update (12/29): Good news! Because the bite was on an extremity (the leg) as opposed to someplace closer to the head, there's less concern on the rabies front. Also, the cat did not attack for no apparent reason - it felt provoked. So, it's not a huge concern. To be safe, though, we get to play our own version of animal control called "Kitty Roll Call". For the next ten days, as long as we have the same number of kitties and they all look healthy, everything's fine. If one goes missing, however, then it could get interesting...

Update (12/30): Joy is doing just fine! No kitties missing yet. Joy is really proud of the bruise she got on her leg around the bite and is showing it off for all who want to see.