Beech Tree News Network

Have you ever seen a cat fight?  The fight always involves kicking, screaming, biting, scratching and hair-pulling, and that’s just at the onset.  Before its conclusion, the confrontation escalates into running, rolling around and body slamming.  And I’m not talking about two broads in a brothel.  I’m referring to actual felines.
    I’ve had cats for most of my life, so I’ve seen these little dramas play out many times—always outdoors and always from a safe distance.  Recently, my friend, Renee Hampton, got to witness one of these confrontations up close and personal.  She was right in the middle of it.  It happened early one morning in her kitchen.
    Renee is an early riser, she has to be.  She and her sisters, Donna and Felicia, are the proprietors of Lindsey’s Market in the fifth district area of Butler County.  Renee arrives at the store every morning between five and five-fifteen, which means she is up and stirring by four a.m.  On this particular morning, the morning that will live in infamy as the “Cat Fight Morning,” Renee was up at three-thirty a.m.  She was up ahead of time because her little dog, Joe, had alerted her that the cats were scratching at the door and eager to be fed. 
    Renee has two cats: Ace, the old man cat, and White Socks, the youngster.  It should be noted here that Renee’s husband, Greg, refers to White Socks as Dog Cat, which, as the story unfolds, might seem like a more appropriate name. 
    When Renee opened the door to let the cats in, she was relieved to see White Socks.  He had been out wandering the neighborhood for the past three day, and he was particularly hungry.  She feeds both cats in the kitchen, but in two separate bowls that she places at on the floor simultaneously at a measured distance apart.  Because she was still drowsy that morning, Renee inadvertently put dog food into both bowls.  Realizing her mistake, she quickly emptied the bowls back into the dog food bag and scooped up some cat food.  The expectation of food then its delay set White Socks into a fever-pitch of anticipation.  When Renee set the bowls on the kitchen floor, both cats headed for the same bowl.
    What happened next was right out of a Stephen King movie.  White Socks stood up on his hind legs, squalled then jumped astraddle Ace’s back.  There was the afore-mentioned kicking, screaming, scratching, biting and hair-pulling followed by running, rolling and body-slamming.  Some of the screams were from Renee herself while she tried to separate the two felines who had now tumbled their way into the living room.  Renee reached for the only deterrent at hand, her house shoe, leaving her left foot completely exposed. 
    White Socks, confused as to what furry creature was now attacking him from behind, latched onto Renee’s ankle.  The three had arrived at the front door, so Renee reached in amongst the flying fur, found the back of White Socks neck and grabbed hold in an attempt to fling the cat out the front door. Just before she was able to release the cat, however, he turned his head and bit through the fleshy skin beneath her right thumb.  With White Socks now outside and Ace safely inside, Renee hobbled into the bathroom, located just off the kitchen.
    Greg, sleeping upstairs until he was awakened by the disturbance downstairs, arrived on the scene in time to see cat fur settling onto the furniture and blood seeping into the hardwood floor.  He tracked Renee’s bloody footprints to the bathroom, where she sat on the edge of the tub, pouring alcohol onto her wounds—a far tougher woman than I.
    Renee, being Renee, still arrived at Lindsey’s Market in time to open the store.  Renee, also being former-nurse Renee, knew cat-inflicted wounds were nothing to mess around with, so she headed to Urgent Care as soon as her sister, Donna, arrived at the store.  It would be the first of four visits over the next week, which would include a Tetanus shot, two injections of Rocephin (a very strong antibiotic), three ever-stronger courses of oral antibiotics and a sterile dressing so thick that Renee had to wear a medical boot in order to keep the dressing from contamination.
    She stopped by New Image after her first trip to the doctor, and I got queasy in the parking lot just looking at her injuries.  She had deep claw marks around her ankle and scratches and bites on the bottom of her foot.  When I looked at that bite mark below her right thumb, I knew it had to be painful just to hold onto the steering wheel. 
    As we were gathered around her car, Greg said, “She was an eejit for getting in the middle of it in the first place.”
    “Greg,” I protested, “If a coyote came into my yard and attacked one of my animals, I’d jump right in the middle of it too, even if all I had was a house shoe!”
    “A coyote is one thing,” my husband, Garey, said, “A cat is an entirely different story.”
    Later that afternoon, I thought about what my husband said about coyotes and cats.  I decided to rethink my coyote/house shoe position.  If a coyote comes into my yard and attacks my cat, I’ll probably just stand back and watch.  The smart money’s on the cat.