Cats are agile, svelt and coordinated creatures.
At 2 a.m. I discovered this concept is grossly inaccurate.
Kiva the kitty is a sweetie. Always has been since I rescued her from the Humane Society Shelter two years ago. Not one day passes that this little critter fails to leave a permanent mark on my heart and soul.
We've been through a lot. Last year it was major surgery to remove a mass near her liver. She recovered as if that horrific time was a single blink in the world at large. Kiva is a kitty in constant motion. Personally, I think the word Play, was her invention...
Well, unless she is asleep after an hour of intense puss washing to ensure that the face, ears, paws, tail and ruff are immaculate.
It was 2 a.m. The household was fast asleep, while visions of where the next meal was going to come from in this crappy economy, danced in our heads. Those dreams vanished in a POOF when the cry from Hell rolled down the hallway like a freight train.
All three of us rolled out of our beds making an effort that that Three Stooges would have found instructive. Joe loading the shotgun while trying to put on his underwear, Peter running around in circles and only stopped because his closet door reached out and grabbed him and I on my hands and knees from falling out of bed, desperately trying to grab my walking stick, so I could get myself off the cold tile floor.
Now, Banchees make horrific sounds, but this sounded like a Banchee that got the hurt put on them big time.
Joe reached the living room first. I crawled into the room second and Peter was still going around in circles, but this time with a bloody nose and on his knees, thanks to his closet door.
There, on the sofa, was Kiva the Kitty. She was in shock with cactus spines covering her from head to tail. Her, "OwOOOOOO's" were painful to the ears.
She had been spooking around on the plant shelf above the front door, obviously enjoying her greens, when she must have stumbled and fell to the top of the bookcase holding some of my cacti collection. Actually, this was obvious, as cacti and broken pottery lay on the floor around the bookcase.
Peter finally came flying into the living room with blood gushing from his nose and leaving a trail behind him.
"Jesus Christ! Kiva, are you OK?" Yelled Joe.
Joe's typical understatements. Of course Kiva wasn't OK. She looked like a brush had erupted from her coat. She was on her claws doing a toe-walk while howling.
"Joe, grab Kiva and get her to Dr. Schooney, now!" I barked. Some of the spines were from a toothpick cactus with spines six inches long. I had no idea if they had gone so deep as to do real damage. I wasn't worried about the other spines, as they would be easy to remove and those that couldn't, would work themselves out eventually.
Then I turned to Peter and said something scathingly brilliant, "Your nose is bleeding."
My brave Joe grabbed for Kiva as I shuffled to get the cat carrier from the utility room. Upon my return I saw Joe with a blur in his hands. It was Kiva trying to get out of his grasp. Only later would I see the damage her claws had done to Joe from her pain and panic.
"Let's roll," said Joe, as he got Kiva into the carrier.
"Can't," I said. "I've got to tend to Peter's snoot. You go and I'll follow shortly."
After tending to Peter's nose and getting him back to his room, I headed out to the Vet's. When I arrived Joe and Dr. Schooney were both busy removing spines from Kiva. Kiva was standing rigid and looked in shock.
At 5:30 a.m. the three of us returned home. Kiva relieved of the cacti spines, which none had gone in deep enough to have been critical, but now needing a bath in a special solution Dr. Schoonover prescribed. It would help take away the sting of the spines and loosen any small spines still embedded in her skin and help them work themselves out.
Well, a normal person would have thought the emergency was over. It wasn't. Not by a long shot.
While Kiva was giving a frantic world class lick to her wounds, I prepared a warm bath with the solution in the kitchen sink.
Now, Kiva, likes water. But only if it is from a fresh flush of the commode, which she can then drink. But, anything else having to do with water, is her avowed enemy. Taking a bath for the first time wasn't on her agenda of favorite things to do after the shellacing she took with the cacti.
There was Joe following Kiva around, through, under, over and behind anything she thought might save her from having to take a bath. Joe is pretty quick, though and got Kiva in his hands to bring her to the kitchen.
When I turned around to see them, I saw Joe with a blur between his hands. It was, of course, Kiva and she was shredding Joe's arms, face and neck like Dracula on Meth. It was not a pretty sight.
Naturally, Kiva endured the bath and the blow dryer became a new intense enemy, but Kiva survived to terrorize another day.
While Kiva curled up on my bed for much needed calming down, I attended to Joe's wounds of compassion. A full box of bandaids and two liters of alcohol and Joe was on the mend.
So, our family learned a great deal the other night. First, cats can be as putzy as people. Second, doors can cause nose bleeds. Third, if you have a cat, be sure to have a large supply of bandaids and alcohol on hand during bath time. Fourth, cacti are masters at keeping kitties at bay.
Kiva makes a wide path away from the bookcase now...
Cause there be monsters there.