I knew something was up the minute my garage door came up and a bottle of window washer for the cars had been knocked off a shelf and had leaked all over the garage. My fishing equipment was strewn throughout the bay as well and when I got everything cleaned up, my garage door wouldn't go down except manually.
Of course when I asked my wife what happened in the garage she told me she didn't know what I was talking about. I guess the hair over her ears muted the destruction that was going on in the garage.
But it didn't stop her from hearing the cat cries a few minutes later. Oh no. Apparently my wife had left her garage door up for a while after she got home and a little orange kitten had taken refuge from the bitter cold.
Now little Fang decided that he was not happy with all of the commotion but he had no intention of leaving the warmth of the garage. I usually have a way with animals so I told my wife to go in the house, scrounge up some food and I would get Fang. My first mistake.
After a few minutes I was rubbing Fang, who was all of three pounds, and had it purring when my wife opened the door to the garage. At that moment Fang freaked out like nothing I have ever seen before. The cute little eyes were replaced by eyes of hate and little, razor sharp kitten teeth. The look was coupled with a scream that pierced my ears and I think shattered a window in our house.
As I yelled for my wife to go back in the house, Fang somehow latched his razor sharp teeth on my right index finger and tried his best to use the tip of my finger for his supper. It was all I could do not to throw Fang as hard as I could off the wall, but I came to my senses that the little thing was just scared and apparently hungry.
Now I was yelling for my laughing wife to come back out and put the garage door up. I freed my bloody finger from the jaws of Fang and set the screaming little bundle of evil down outside the garage. The little cracked out cat didn't like that idea though and sprinted back into the garage and began climbing the wall.
I'm not sure what kind of catnip Fang had been eating but the acrobatic furball climbed up about six and a half feet of the wall and jumped up on a shelf. I suddenly realized how the window cleaner and my fishing equipment had ended up on the garage floor.
This time I grabbed Fang and made sure my bloody hand got nowhere near the possessed feline's mouth. Flailing, hissing, spitting and crying, Fang was obviously not a happy cat but at that point, I could care less. He was getting out of that garage one way or another.
Fang chose kicking and screaming as I took him to the corner of the house and released him back out to the wild where he took off running. That is when the pain set in. Who knew a bite from a little kitten like that could hurt so bad?
My wife thought it was funny when she saw my finger dripping blood and I noticed her cackling several times while I was trying to clean it and was explaining to her how bad it throbbed. As it swelled up I thought how embarrassing it would be to have in my obituary that he was killed by a cat with rabies.
I took some antibiotics and fortunately Kay and Sherry with the Scott County Health Department told my wife that I would live. You see, my wife has enjoyed telling the story to anybody who will listen.
But I learned my lesson. Kittens aren't cute, they are evil. As I write this, I still have two teeth marks in my finger and my garage door still doesn't work right. I haven't seen Fang since the incident and something tells me I won't ever see him again. But if you happen to see a little orange kitten with blood dripping from his teeth, take my advice and stay away. And as Bob Barker used to say, "Help control the pet population; have your pet spayed or neutered." Please.