Cat bite

My hand was the victim of jealous kitty turf wars, and sustained collateral damage, but it looks like I was bitten by a cobra. Nellie was probably overstimulated after a good ear and headrub—and then Spartan walked into the room. I wasn't even scratching her, my hand was resting on the white bolster as she blissfully snoozed. Spartan was using the cat tree. She leapt straight up in the air and chomped me hard on the hand. He took off, skidding down the corridor. It woul'd've been hysterically funny any other time. She clearly didn't take offense to my swat, or to me, no grudge was held—and she was back for more pets within a few minutes, or is she schizophrenic, Alzheimer's? All this happened right before the automatic catfeeder timer went off... Wonder if that was also a factor? Since Nellie & Spartan are housecats I know there's no danger of outside disease. I wish she had brushed her teeth, or at least gargled before she bit me. Owww. How to sensibly treat it? That Mayo Clinic info is a lot of hysteria.

Soaking it now. Feels good. Seems like swelling is abating. it's a puncture—two punctures. I’m too late for hydrogen peroxide; so I doused with triple antibiotic cream. I get the toxic part, but not the hysteria. If all that is posted about catbites were true across the board, none of us would've survived childhood. I've been bitten many times. The wounds didn’t bleed a lot but I did squeeze it. Top of hand.im in a bit of a dilemma in that I can’t have a Tetanus shot w/o violent side affects. These cats NEVER go out. Ever. Hydrogen peroxicde doesn't fizzle so at least the wound surface is clean. Im soaking it—no Epson Salts—so I used baking soda.

My grannie always bathed our infected wounds in potassium permanganate, or boric acid. Localized swelling—each puncture is about nickel-to-quarter sized, but it's combined to about silver dollar size. yikes! Jane the NP  I called up said 80% of all catbites become infected. Cellulitis (not thunder thighs!) is the problem. Localized swelling, no fever. Been making little baking soda poultices too. Nothing like a little kitty jealousy to stoke the fire. Soaked it all day long on the hour in Epson salt/baking soda water (from my baking soda poultice)—swelling's almost all gone. Punctures are open. Nothing to drain. I also have the cleanest whitest nails ever. A UK site said to wait 24 hours  before panicing—24 hours later, it's almost back to normal. Slightly warm, not hot like this AM.

Problem is that Spartan is skittish, so Nellie takes advantage of it. You can't quite pet him. Always out of reach. Clearly Nellie didn't even want to share that ephemeral petting space.Yikes! when I was a chile I decided I would put Blackie the cat on a leash and take him for a walk like a dog. Neighbor's dogs came bounding down to say hello. Blackie ran up to the crown of my head and proceeded to hiss and spit and rake my face. I had scars on my eyelids and cheeks for ages. They eventually faded. NO antibiotics, no doctor...I've been chomped and scratched many times.

This bite. Definitely a deep bone bruise. Hurts when I use it too much. Soaked it all day yesterday and today. No fever, or swelling now, just a teentsy 1/8" redness around thumb joint wound, but not the other.  Peroxide between soaks. I am keeping an eagle eye out. I saw my knee doctor, he said my hand was fine—and that if it swelled, then it was infected. Still hurts a bit. He verified that cat bites were bad—but it’s the body's job is to fight off infection—which mine did, swimmingly. Sans antibiotics, TG. See, I took so many in my early 20s that I had an immuno-meltdown, and became sensitized to everything. Took ages to undo the damage. So I tend to avoid antibiotics, if I can.

Someone once dumped a calico mother and three ginger kittens at our house—end of Barranca Road. Someone else's idea of letting the new mother cat go back to the wild. She was literally starving, unable to care for them—so I snaggged one kitten and raise him, but not the other. Figby grew huge while his wild brother stayed stunted. Mama and third kitten died and the little guy was by himself. He was about as big as a minute. I tried everything to lure him into the house on a starvation ticket. Then I tried to tame him. I'd sit for hours behind a saucers of milk, until he got used to my presence. Ham did the trick. So I began trying to pet him...he latched onto my hand and nearly bit right through it. I left my hand there, and he let go, then licked my hand. I knew I'd won the battle. (Yes, it got infected.) Runty Pishkin never grew as big as Figby—who, pardon the pun, really was a ham—and remained skittish to the end. FIgby loved sharing tea, old fashioneds and whiskey neat with my grannie. Anything she ate—so did he. He loved her that much. Bananas and avocados I can see, but booze? He was more dog than cat and strolled with her in the garden, never leaving her side. He was a lovefest. He knew we'd saved him. I was devastated when he died of distemper. (Pre shots days.) Pishkin was inconsolable, Figby was all he had to anchor him to our world, and so he became wilder and wilder with each visit.