Cat Scratch Fever

Ted Nugent's famous song has been stuck in my head for the last couple of days.

It all started when I brought some junk upstairs to the attic Sunday. Some day, I'd like to make the attic into a master suite, but now it's a dumping ground for shit we don't know what to do with (that comes in handy when company is coming).

Anyway, I lugged some things up there and was in its only "room." I was supposed to be alone, but felt like someone or something was watching me. I turned and saw one of our cats, Ringo, sniffing around.

Shit! I had to get him out of there. The attic has a lot of exposed insulation and even worse, I'm not sure what kinds of nooks and crannies my spelunker kitty could fall into.

I rushed out to grab him, then saw Frankie, our female kitty (pictured at left). She's older and is supposed to know better. Not this day.

So I tried to nudge her down the steps with my foot while carrying Ringo, figuring the overly curious male needed the most restraint. I got about halfway down the stairs, which are so steep, they are almost like climbing a ladder. Frankie all of a sudden started getting sneaky and was trying to scoot by my leg. I realized she was now more trouble than Ringo, so I ditched him on the steps, and nabbed Frankie just as she had almost made it to the top.

Ringo started heading up the stairs again and at this point I realized I wasn't going to be able to juggle kitties for long. I called out to my wife who was on the main floor watching TV. Somehow she heard me yell for something and started running up the stairs, shouting "What?!!" All of the commotion got Frankie tensed up. I felt her muscles flex and her kitty claws come out. Her transformation into hellcat was almost complete. All she needed was one more noise to put her over the edge. I tried to creep down the stairs as if I was carrying feline nitroglycerin.

My wife opened the attic door very quickly, which made an unfamiliar sound. The last nail in the kitty coffin had just been hammered in. Frankie dumped a payload of piss on her unsuspecting brother below with a little bit nailing my hands and shirt. It was a lot of piss. It was like she was one of those helicopters that picks up a big load of water and then dumps it on a forest fire.

Ringo (pictured at left) just froze on the steps, trying to figure out why he was the recipient of this golden shower. Meanwhile, Frankie was totally freaking out and started to claw her way up my shoulder. She practically peeled my T-shirt off, but it just bunched up around my neck. I was more worried that she might fall and get hurt on the stairs than what damage her claws would do to me, so I just kind of let nature take its course.

Next thing I know, Frankie is clawing at me like Wolverine turning an enemy into a scratching post. It's like my back was a slippery floor and she had those claws dancing all over looking for traction. When she did find her paws, she tore up my back a bit more and gained about 3-4 inches. Finally she was able to jump off my back and up onto the third story floor.

When it was over it looked like I tried to break up a fight between Roy and his tiger, Montecore. The scratches were so deep I doubt even Siegfried would have been able to make them disappear.

My wife turned into a nurse, cleaning my wounds and applying an immense amount of neosporin. She also told me Frankie spared Blue, the affectionate name I gave to the bull tattoo I got about 13 years ago. She then gave Ringo a bath and settled Frankie's nerves. Soon all was back to normal at Rocky's residence.

Luckily, my wife saw the incident happen, so she wouldn't suspect the following: 1) The scratches came from the hands of some pussycat doll from St. Paul's Frogtown area; or 2) Halle Berry went slumming in her Catwoman outfit and found me.

As far as the back attack, I forgave and forgot. Frankie didn't mean it, she was just a "fraidy cat." The bottom line is I'd rather have a pain in the back pet than a pain in the ass pet any day.