“Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”
- William Blake (1794)
It is high Summer. The Sun shines fitfully from behind the fleeting clouds. The garden is alive with the hum of bees and insects. The buddleia sways gently in the breeze. Red Admirals, Peacocks and Painted Ladies hover above on the lookout for nectar. A hummingbird moth scuttles through. The wife views the scene from her favourite garden chair. The cat sits nearby also on her favourite chair. All is well with the world as the wife gently strokes the cat feeling the vibrations from her purrs pass down her fingers.
Suddenly the cat strikes! She turns and sinks her incisors into the wife’s thumb. The cat squawks and runs for it. Her parentage is called into question. “The cat just bit me for no reason at all!”
“Quick! Run some warm water over it. Wash with soap and water. Get the wound to bleed if you can.” Antiseptic cream is applied. The thumb swells up. The internet is scrutinized for guidance. Everything is recommended from watchful waiting to amputation (perhaps that was for snake bites!). We decide to review status of thumb in the morning. The cat behaves sheepishly.
Next morning swelling has increased. We need advice. These days one cannot ring a GP surgery for guidance – a form has to be completed. Form duly completed and every aspect of cat’s dastardly attack is recorded and send is pressed.
In due course the phone rings.
“You need a tetanus injection.”
“Good. When can I come and get one?”
“We do not do tetanus injections.”
“But you are a doctors’ surgery.”
“We don’t do tetanus injections. You need to go to Casualty.”
“I don’t want to go to Casualty. It’s a cat bite.”
“Ring 111 then. Goodbye.”
111 service rung. Promise made to ring back. Within the hour a nice man from the 111 service rings. Enquires tenderly after cat’s welfare. Assures us she did not mean it and says cat still loves us. The cat smirks. Need for tetanus injection confirmed.
“I don’t want to go to Casualty. Is there a walk-in centre nearby?”
Nearest walk-in centre does not open for 6 hours. Next nearest is an hour’s drive away.
Wife and I look at each other. Agree nettle has to be grasped and we must go to Casualty.
We drive to local Accident and Emergency Department. I drop wife at entrance and set off in hunt for the Holy Grail – otherwise known as a hospital parking space. No spaces available – official or unofficial. Park on road outside and set off for A & E. I expect to be confronted with a “Gone with the Wind” style scene with bodies on stretchers everywhere covered in bloodied bandages.
To my amazement department is nearly empty with no blood stains to be seen. All is sereness and quiet. I spy wife at far end of waiting hall. Is that the back or the front of the queue I quietly reflect.
“I have been seen by a very nice nurse practitioner and I am to have an X-ray. They are looking for residual tooth pieces and plus anything else cat may have deposited from its incisors”.
X-ray clear. Vital signs are checked (gosh! This is thorough for a cat bite). All okay. Talk of referral to hand injury team (they have a specialist hand injury service - I reflect things must be looking up) and, more sinisterly, admission for intravenous antibiotics. But it’s a cat bite I reflect. Hand is cleaned and dressed. Wife sent home with three different antibiotics.
Early next morning the phone rings. It’s the hospital’s hand injury clinic. They need to see said thumb as soon as possible. We set off for hospital again. On way hospital rings again. “We are worried about the number of antibiotics we have given you”. My word, they are thorough I conclude. We assure caller we are on way to hospital and will discuss the antibiotics with a doctor.
Again, no parking spaces. I park outside the hospital and stride back to the hand injury clinic. Very quickly wife is called through. I notice on wall there is a painting of a cat looking down on the assembled hand-injured. Is this a form of feline mental torture?
Wife is gone for some time. I deduce she is moving from waiting room to waiting room seeking the availability of God – otherwise known as a Hand Surgeon. Eventually wife appears. Holds up hand. It looks like Henry Cooper before his boxing glove is put on. “What have they done?”.
“They cut the wound open and squeezed out the infected area.” I mentally check how long since I had breakfast and calculate risk of vomiting. “I have to come back in 2 days.” We return home to feed hungry cat.
Two days pass. Swelling slowly goes down. Antibiotics are consumed. Cat is slowly readmitted to bosom of family.
Return to hospital on a Sunday. All car parks are virtually empty. Cat still staring down from wall. Hand seen. Dressing removed and lighter one applied. Magic hand doc delighted with progress. Discharged with replacement dressings and reminder to keep taking the pills. On way out the hospital’s car parking system attempts to charge us for a 12 hour stay!
We return home and feed the cat. The tetanus injection was never administered.
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