Flashes of Panic

Izzy has claws.

This is all, of course, my fault. He gets rambunctious in the evenings, and I give in and play the way he wants to play, which is rough. Think Dennis the Menace putting his dad down for the count. The problem is that I’m trying not to hurt the cat, and he’s playing for keeps.

The idea is that all is fair if I’m wearing the Kitten Mitten, which in addition to having pom-poms and bells is easily distinguished from an actual hand because it’s bright orange. Think ING or Dutch soccer and you’re on the right track. It’s as thick as good gardening gloves. I think one of the problems is that he starts pulling it right off my hand, then digs in on the newly-exposed skin like there’s another glove under there. Inevitably I end up losing some skin and a good bit of blood.

Last night I was considering just soaking my whole hand in NewSkin, about halfway up to my elbow. I really, really hope I am at least entertaining him. I think my nieces would like him because he’s much more social and curious than their Nana’s late tabby, but if they were to meet, I would predict tears. They’re not used to armed playmates.

Now playing: Crocodile from Nonsuch by XTC