The Cat’s Meow Isn’t Worse Than Its Bite

I consider myself a bit of a medical disaster; if something goes wrong, it does so in the most spectacular or strange manner. 

This story begins the day before I head to the ER. My indoor cat makes a mad dash for the front door while I am taking rubbish out and disappears for a few minutes. As he is a black cat, and it is 1:00 am, he’s practically invisible.

His presence is made known when he starts getting his a** handed to him by a cat half his size across the road. I sigh, knowing that separating them will get me scratched up, but as a lifelong cat owner, I decide it’s worth it just to get him safely indoors.

What I am not expecting is my cat latching onto my hand, violently. He bites my hand and digs his claws up my arm! I get him back home and begin to clean the wound. It’s deep, but not bad enough for me to realise it needs medical attention. It’s late at night but I wake my parents to let them know what’s happened because I know how dangerous cat bites can be. With copious amounts of disinfectant, and closing up the most suspect scratches, I head to bed. 

During my shift at work the next day, it becomes apparent it needs further attention. I get out of my shift at 9:00 pm, call a nurse hotline, and am told that I really need to be at the hospital within twenty-four hours of the initial bite. Off to the ER I go, much at the dismay of my parents. They’re convinced I’ll be given a prescription of antibiotics and sent home.

Funnily enough, the reception nurse is a lady I assisted at work during the day, and we have a chat while waiting for the doctor. She asks me to take the bandage off my hand, and her face falls. I haven’t really looked at it for a few hours, but it has clearly swollen to almost twice the size of my other hand.

I get taken out back, but there are no beds available. I apologise for taking up valuable time and resources, but they say that they trust my judgment and that it was the right call to come in. The doctor finally makes it in and starts preparing me for an IV. I’m kind of shocked because at this stage I was still just expecting them to clean it and send me home with a prescription. I call my dad, who has been sitting in the car waiting for this “inevitable” outcome, but when he sees the situation, he is shocked, too.

I have terrible veins, which is great fun for all the blood tests I’ve needed in my time. They try to get one into my left arm, the one without injury, and fail. I’m informed it’s really against all best interests to have the injured arm stuck, but they have to go for it anyway. I receive the first round of antibiotics, and some painkillers, too. I’m asked when my last tetanus shot was. I think for a second, and then laugh.

My last tetanus shot was in 2012 when I was hospitalised… for a cat bite that pierced a hole through my skull! (Different cat!)

I’m admitted overnight and placed in the children’s ward, despite being an adult, as they really need to monitor my situation. I also need my arm suspended above my head, which is very uncomfortable with the attached drip. A sleepless night ensues.

The next day, as I’m about to be discharged, four rounds of antibiotics later, I hear the doctor speaking to the patient in the bed beside me. He mentions an animal bite, and I think that he may have the wrong patient.

Nope! The lady beside me, who was admitted mere minutes before me, is there for a snake bite! We end up laughing over it and realise that my situation is actually worse; I am genuinely at risk of losing my hand, but Snake Bite Lady is comparatively fine!

Although I now have a few scars up my hand and arm, it was almost worth the pain when the hilarity of the situation hit realising that my house cat bite was worse than a venomous snake bite!