... and then he bit through the Kevlar.

Warning:  There is talk of injuries and blood ahead.  Human, not animal.  You've been warned!

There was an adoption at the rescue center Saturday morning.  We'll call him "Petey".  Petey was one of our hard cases.  He came in as a stray, and he wanted NOTHING TO DO with the adoption center, the other cats, or people.  He would stay in his cage, all pissed off, and he would LUNGE at anyone who tried to approach him.

A week ago, a couple came in who were interested in Petey.  They had recently lost a cat to kidney disease who looked a lot like Petey, and they were not put off by the fact that he was ... less than friendly.  They were willing to work with him, and Petey would actually eat treats out of the man's hand, although he still would not let them pet him.  It helped that he was an orange tabby - everybody loves orange tabbies.  We had them come in a couple of different times, to make sure they knew what they were getting into.  We knew that a lot of Petey's aggression was out of fear, but we didn't know how much he might settle down in a home environment.  We could offer no guarantees, and we made sure the couple understood that.  (With the hard cases, we try to make very sure that people go into the adoption with their eyes open.  We HATE returns, because it's awfully hard on the cat.)

So!  Saturday was Petey's big day.  Now ... we had to get him into a carrier for the trip home.  I had brought in one of my top-loading carriers, because they are much easier to use with resistant cats than the regular front-loaders.

The man who was adopting him worked with him for a while, trying to coax him out of his cage with treats.  No go.  It became obvious that Petey was getting agitated, and it was time to get it over with.

I volunteered.  Because I'm an idiot, and because I REALLY wanted to see Petey go home.  Some cats do better in the center with time, but Petey's behavior was actually regressing the longer he stayed  there.  That cat needed out.

So.  I put on a long-sleeved sweatshirt and donned the rescue gloves.  Rescue gloves are like work gloves, but they are made out of Kevlar - the same thing used in bulletproof vests.  Rescue gloves protect you from bites and scratches.

I started by trying to scruff Petey (the easiest way to handle an aggressive cat), and that is when the sh*t hit  the fan.  Petey lunged.  He bit, although all he was biting was the gloves.  He scratched.  He howled and yowled and got all the other cats in the center howling and yowling.  It was bedlam.

I finally managed to get him out of the cage and onto the floor of the center, where he went tearing around in crazy circles, trying to get away.  And then he started fear-pooping.  I am not even kidding you when I say there was poop ALL OVER.  That cat let loose.  And I COULD NOT get a firm grip on him - Every time I'd try to scruff him, he'd lunge and bite, or turn and kick.  I tried throwing a towel over him, but he'd just squirm out of it, fighting all the way.  Time was passing. 

And then.  And then.  I got a good grip around his shoulders, and he turned and bit my hand. 

Through the Kevlar.

That cat bit THROUGH Kevlar and sunk his teeth into my knuckles.

Now, most cats, when they bite, will bite and then retreat.  Petey?  Held on.  It was like having a flipping Pit Bull attached to my hand.  I swear to God, I could FEEL his teeth against my knucklebones.

But!  I had him.  I had ahold of Petey!  Or, you know, he had ahold of me.  Sensing my big chance, I flung my hand, with Petey attached, into the carrier, slammed the door down, and pulled my hand out, leaving Petey behind. 

Success!

And then?  It was time to assess the damage.  I pulled the glove off the hand that Petey had bitten, and blood started RUNNING down my arm.  I had three puncture wounds in the knuckles.  I wrapped the hand in a towel and headed for the bathroom,  where I started rinsing out the wounds, watching kind of woozily as the blood swirled down the drain.  Honestly, I was so jazzed about getting Petey that I wasn't as worried as I ordinarily would be over the fact that I had just had a hand shredded by a cat.

Once I got everything cleaned up and sterilized and bandaged, I headed back for the center, where Petey was residing calmly, if warily, in the carrier. 

We got an email from Petey's new parents on Saturday night, along about the time my hand FINALLY stopped bleeding.  He was residing calmly in their spare bedroom.  He let them touch his paws.  They were very happy.

Dontcha love a happy ending?  Now if the swelling and the pain would just go away ...