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This is a question When Animals Attack

I once witnessed my best friend savaged near to death by a flock of rampant killer sheep.

It's a kill-or-be-killed world out there and poor Steve Irwin never made it back alive. Tell us your tales of survival.

(, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 14:45)
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Taste the blood of Cat-ula
Many years ago, I'd had an ongoing battle chasing away cats eating absentee landlady's cat's food (making him a nervous wreck). Got home one night to find landlady cat cowering and a huge growling spiky haired black monster in a corner of the kitchen. I decided to grab the bastard and chuck it out of the cat flap.

Except this one didn't just wriggle like the other cats I'd thrown out. It bit the back of my neck, clawed at my face and arms and then sank its teeth in to my left hand, over my lower thumb. And wouldn't let go.

Failing to prise its jaws open, I managed to turn on the kitchen tap and held Lucifer's head under it. Still wouldn't let go. With the sink filling up with water, in desperation I plunged Beelzebub's head under. Eventually it unclamped and squirmed back to the corner. I opened the back door, grabbed Satan by the scruff and flung it out, slamming the door behind it.

And then I noticed the blood.

Running down the back door from my hand, splashes of it all over the kitchen floor, sink, and cabinets. I stood there dripping for a minute, then pulled myself together and went to the local hospital (walking distance around the corner).

Casualty cleanup, bandages, painkillers and a tetanus shot later, I made it home around 2am. Realising the next day that I couldn't actually use my hands, I called in sick to work. Cue unsympathetic colleagues ("You got bitten by a puddy-tat!? Awwww!!!!"), angry boss threatening to drive round to drag me in etc.

Three days later I made it back to work. Cue suddenly sympathetic colleagues upon seeing my swollen face, arms and bandages asking questions like "What the hell happened to you?" "Did you get beaten up?" "Why did you say you'd been bitten by a cat?"

The best bit was that a week everything was getting better, except my thumb knuckle- still painful, nearly the size of a ping-pong ball and scabbing over in a strange, hard shiny way. Back to casualty. "Nothing wrong with it", they lied. "Take some ibuprofen", they dismissed.

I went home, downed some vodka, gritted my teeth and proceeded with amateur thumb surgery using tweezers, a needle and a razorblade. After sufficient opening up of shiny knuckle scab, out pop two tiny, spiky black cat hairs. Half an hour after removing them, my thumb was almost back to normal size. Cat hairs embedded in wounds don’t show up on x-rays, it would seem.

I love cats by the way. I have three and I’d choose them over most people I know.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 10:53, 1 reply)
I'd have drowned the fucker

(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 11:17, closed)

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