“So, it seems as if you’ve found a new friend!” The volunteer comes in 15 minutes later, clapping her hands together. She watches as the cat purrs in my lap as I scratch it behind the ears.
“Yes, Reagan came from a family whose original owner passed away, and the next of kin was allergic, so, here he is!” She says, shaking her head sadly, “Well, I’ll just leave you two alone for a bit more, leave the cat in the room and come up to the front desk when you are done.”
“Yes, thank you,” I say. She leaves, closing the door behind her quietly. I here dogs barking in the distance, and birds chirping. The cat, Reagan, looks up with rapt attention as a bird chirps nearby
“You just want somewhere quieter I bet,” I say quietly to the cat. Suddenly, he starts meowing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Reagan. Naturally, he doesn’t answer. He MEOWS! some more. I stop petting him and rest my arm by his head. Suddenly, it’s over as quickly as it started. Reagan is on the floor. I am on my feet and holding my arm.
“What’d you do? What’d you do?” I say over and over again, looking at my arm. The damn cat BIT me. We were just sitting there so calmly; I was petting him and then he bit me. I look down at my arm.
“Oh shit,” I say, watching as blood slowly pools on my arm from the bite. I look down at the cat, he has long stopped meowing and is now rubbing his head against my leg; he stops for a moment and looks up at me with big green eyes.
It’s time to make a decision. I could tell them I was bitten, but I don’t really see anything good happening from that. If I don’t tell them and someone else tries to just sit with him, I am taking a risk because he might bite someone else. Or, he might be having a bad day. I mean, I have bad days sometimes too, and to be quite honest he wasn’t my first choice. My first choice cat was in the cage next to him, but when I asked the lady if I could see that cat, she said that the cat is already being held for another person ad that I would not be able to adopt him if the other person does. So, I picked the cat in the next cage.
I decide not to tell them. I cup my hand around my arm naturally and go up to the front desk.
“I’m done,” I say, holding my arm lightly.
“Alright so did you make a decision or…?” A younger volunteer asks me.
“Well, I mean I’m not sure yet…” I say, waving my hand. Whoops, it was these moments I wished that I didn’t talk with my hands so much.
“Oh my god what happened!” She yelps, looking at my arm.
“I…I…” I stutter. I quickly pull myself together and finish somewhat lamely, “Oh it’s uhhhh nothing.”
“Did that cat bite you??” She practically yells. A couple standing near the desk look over at me in alarm. There’s another, much older, volunteer at my side within SECONDS.
“What happened,” She says briskly, eying me. The girl points at my arm. I show her and try to push it off as if it was nothing. She holds my arm up to her eyes and nods. She calls over another volunteer who produces a form and the cats history out of thin air. As it turns out it was the woman who helped me with the cat in the first place.
“I’m uh…sorry I mean I was just sitting there with the cat and he just bit me, has he been like that at all?” I say, feeling like I’ve repeated my story about a million times. The lady who helped me looks up wordlessly and shakes her head.
“He wouldn’t be in the family-friendly room if he had bit someone,” She says, shaking her head without another word.
“It was probably my fault,” I keep saying, shaking my head as well. She keeps on saying that it wasn’t my fault, that no one could have seen this coming, not to worry about it, but all I can explain for myself is the story of where I am the only witness to this cat biting me.
The woman who helped me is having a very hard time filling out the form. She fills out name of the shelter and the address appropriately, but she can’t even get past the first three numbers in the phone number. She holds her head in her hand for a few seconds, before turning around for a full minute.
“What’ll happen to the cat?” I ask immediately. The woman who is filling out the form is unable to answer me, and stands with her back to me, her head in her hands. The teenager who exclaimed my bite to the world turns to me.
“Well, we’ll keep him for 10 days and then he’ll be…” She trails off, look solemn.
“Oh. My. God.” I say, looking around. The couple standing behind me looks like I just killed their first born. Suddenly there is no more chirping, no meowing, no barking. All of the volunteers behind the front desk are staring at me.
“I’m…I didn’t MEAN for this to happen,” I say, stricken.
“You understand that you will be contacted by the Wisconsin Humane Society within ten days, and you understand that the only shot we do not give our cats when they come in is rabies,” The woman who was silent for so long filling out the form says soothingly, patting me on the hand a few times.
“I…What?” I say, “I might have rabies?”
“The cat should have shown signs of it by now, and it is highly unlikely,” She says immediately, shaking her head, “We are required by state law to monitor the cat for 10 days, and it will show signs of rabies within that 10 days if it does have it from exposure. At the end of the 10-day period, the Wisconsin Center for Disease Control will contact you.”
“Thank you,” I say blankly. A few moments of silence pass between us, where I don’t say anything more. Suddenly, she asks out of nowhere if I want to come back some other time and look at cats again. I just stare at her.
“I understand. Have a nice day,” She says, turning away from me finally. I go out to my car and cry like a little baby. For the first time in my life, I think I’ve caused the death of an animal. I might have rabies or who knows what else other diseases might happen within the next 10 days. The CDC is going to be knocking down my door if that does happen, I can guarantee that. Oh yeah, and I don’t have health benefits until July 1st.
I don’t think I want a cat anymore.
