Pretty, isn’t she? Serene, even.
It’s a lie. She’s a vicious, feral jungle cat who will—suddenly and without remorse—shred the finger off the person who feeds her. Yeah, that would be me. So what happened?
I was letting her bite me, and then she really bit me. I know, huh?
Since Jinx was a wee baby kitty, she’s liked to chew on the ends of my fingers, especially my nails. So it was no big deal, until she turned her head, lined those vicious back teeth up with the first knuckle of my right middle finger and tried to get the marrow out of the bone with one bite. Punctured the skin on both sides, but tore the skin on the top of my hand. And I’m not sure if she bruised the joint somehow, but I can’t bend it. I woke up this morning to excruciating pain and…redness.
So now I’m going to go brave a load of dishes because open wounds love nothing more than hot, Dawn-sudsy water. And then will come the liberal alcohol dousing. Once I’ve stopped screaming and picked myself up off the floor, I’ll see if I can hold a pen any better than I can type.
And I’m not letting that little ginger witch chew my nails anymore, dammit.