I fought the claws (and the claws won)
There's a rule in life. I know this rule, and I broke this rule, and now I'm paying for it. Never, ever say, "I'm having a good week," no matter how true the statement is. The cosmos has ears, and it doesn't take well to being taunted.
So, a complete recap of the weekend: swim a quarter-mile for the first time, fit into size 14 jeans for the first time in a decade, get mauled by skittish seventeen-pound cat.
Top of left arm:
Bottom of left arm:
Top of right arm (mostly unscathed, just a few punctures on my hand)
(See title of post.)
Short version: Edmund is skittish around strange noises. Last night, I'd been sitting on the couch, and he hopped up next to me and placed his front paws on my chest in the classic pick-me-up wordless kitty request. I scooped up his belly and hind legs and began to place him on my lap, when some random noise scared him.
The next thing I know, I have Tasmanian Devilcat™ on my hands. You know how, in the cartoons, there's this little cloud of frantic movement with nothing but random claws popping out here and there? I gotta tell you, folks, it hurts to try to hold one of those.
Jeff doesn't like to see me cry. Thankfully, he's also nice enough to say, "You call Suzan, get directions on how best to treat this to minimize the scarring. Get me a list of what you need and I'll go to the store."
He came back with dinner, first aid supplies, and a massive chocolate chip cookie. One very tearful call to Suzan later, we cleaned up and bandaged my arms as best we could (peroxide, then ointment, then gauze, then a layer of Ace bandages to help shield the raw nerves). We ate dinner. I tried not to explosively hate the cat.
I settled for glaring at him. He'd forgotten the entire incident before I'd even managed to stop bleeding on myself, and really wondered why no one was petting him.
Brian called back an hour or so later, partly to tell me about his 'karate college' weekend but partly, I think, to make sure I'd ceased bawling and started actually breathing normally again.
Meanwhile, I'm bandaged wrist to elbow on my right arm, and knuckle to elbow on my left. Sleeping's interesting when both sides of both arms hurt; where do you put your arms to sleep? (Answer: you sleep on your back, and prop both of your wrists up on your belly, keeping both sides of both arms away from touching anything.)
Edmund, meanwhile, wants a cuddle. I haven't relented yet. I know he's not a mean-spirited cat, just a skittish one, and one that I can normally handle without incident. It's just difficult to cuddle the seventeen-pound source of your pain when doing so makes both arms ache.
I scar easily. I'm hoping these won't add to the tally, but I'm not so sure. I love that cat, but I'd seriously consider wringing his sorry fat feline neck if it wouldn't reopen the scratches on my left arm…
Most frustrating: until these scab over and heal up a bit, I can't swim, either. Grrr.