Part One of this week's adventure

This is probably the biggest series of entries I've ever made. It's been a rough week. I know there aren't a lot of people who read my journal, but I hope the ones who do will stick with this recap of the weekly events, because I'm still in disbelief over some of the things that happened.

Nearly two years ago, my two roommates and I moved to our current home, a mobile home on a city lot. About six months after moving there, our neighbor across the street told us of a stray cat problem in the neighborhood. We had noticed a number of cats around our property. In February of 2006, we got a cat of our own, a hand-me-down tom cat that needed a home. He was neutered two weeks after we adopted him. All of the cats we had seen around our property moved on, except for one black cat that frequently stayed under our trailer in the crawl space. I learned to accept that, even though she beat up our cat frequently (requiring a few trips to the vet for antibiotics), as I've never seen a single rodent around our house, and attributed this to the cat patrolling the crawl space. I never fed nor encouraged the stray to stick around; in fact, she would frequently disappear for lengths of time.

A shed sits close to our trailer; there is a two-foot wide walkway between the two buildings. The shed sits off the ground by about eight inches. About three weeks ago, I noticed the feral under-house cat leading some kittens between the two buildings. I counted three black kittens and one gray kitten, a beautiful young cat with a  light gray coat and darker gray tips on the ears and tail, and pale blue eyes. In the time we have lived here, this is the first I've seen of kittens.

Ike is our eight year old yellow lab dog. He's good with cats when they are inside the house, or if he knows them, when they are outside the house. But he does chase strange cats, and the first time he saw the kittens, he barked and ran at them. The kittens were just beginning to explore around the house and in the yard. Even more feral than their mother, they immediately ran for cover. Two of them climbed a tree, but by morning had managed to get back down.

One week ago, Saturday, May 26th, at about 9 pm at night, I took Ike out to the yard to play with him before going to work at 10pm. I heard some hisses, a bark, and the sounds of kittens scrambling up trees. The gray kitten shot up a fence post, climbed a close tree, and ran out onto a skinny branch in its panic. The branch was not strong enough to hold the kitten, and too narrow for the kitten to hold onto- the kitten was going to fall, landing on the fence and possibly hurting itself. Quickly, I reached up, grab the kitten firmly by the nape of the neck with my left hand, and started lowering it to the ground.

Most people look at cute little kittens, wild or tame, and fail to think of them as anything but cute little cuddly kittens that are adorable, sweet, and harmless; and I fall into that category, even though I should simply know better. Halfway to the ground, this tiny kitten that was only the size of my hand managed to twist itself around and rake my hand deeply with its claws, as well as bite me firmly at the base of the thumb. More shocked than hurt, I tossed the kitten away to the ground, and it streaked over the yard to safety under the shed.

My hand began to bleed from the scratches, and from the bite as well. There were three tiny punctures from its sharp little fangs. Considering the number of times I've had to take my own cat to the vet because of infected wounds from cat fights, I immediately washed the wounds throughly with soap and water, then rinsed with hydrogen peroxide, washed again, and rinsed again. On my way to work, I picked up some topical antiseptic ointment, and applied it during the night to the wounds. The wounds bled for around 10 minutes before stopping. I spent the night at work feeling silly about my own stupidity, and the thought of nearly 300-pound middle-aged man being so quickly beaten up by a one-pound month-old kitten.

Sunday evening, I started to think of something I had failed to consider. Cute as it was, this was a wild animal that had bit me, and broken the skin. Even only being roughly one month old, this kitten could still possibly be carrying rabies.

When I was growing up, the dangers of rabies was drilled into my head. Rabies was one of the most feared diseases for my age group, it seemed. We watched educational movies about it in grade school. Frightening stories of eight-inch needles and sixteen shots straight through to the stomach were talked about on the playground. House pets, outdoor pets, even barn cats were annually bundled up and taken to rabies clinics for yearly innoculations. Strange animals were to be avoided. The local paper ran front-page stories above the fold for each new confirmed case of rabies each year. Rabies was always spoken of with an upper-case R, and was deeply feared and respected.

Of course, neither myself nor any of the other children ever really knew what it was, or anyone that had ever been exposed to rabies, but it was bad with a capital B. But by the time I reached the age of 37, living in Wyoming and watching a helpless stray kitten starting to fall from a tree, all of that childhood knowledge was completely forgotten, as would probably be true for most people in the same situation.

I spent much of memorial day looking for information online about rabies in Wyoming, but there was little current information available. Doing a Google search for "rabies Wyoming" returned the official Wyoming Rabies website, http://www.wyorabies.org. Unfortunately, the latest statistics available there are from the year 2003. However, the front page did include this helpful information:

If you have been exposed to or bitten by a rabid animal call:

1 - 888 - 996 - 9104

Tuesday morning, after settling in at work, I called the number, and explained the situation to the gentleman who answered. He did not laugh at me as I feared he would; but rather took the matter seriously, collecting my information and then placing me on hold while he tried to reach a member of the staff (I never did find out what department this staff was a part of, so in my head, he was trying to reach the Wyoming Rabies Taskforce Strikeforce Department).

After being on hold for about one minute, he returned to the line and said he was going to patch me through... and the connection was broken. With a sinking feeling I began to believe that I was now on my own, and that I'd been hung up on so that no one would have to deal with the kitten-trounced man. Instead, they immediately called back, apologized, and patched me through to Doctor D.

Doctor D listened patiently to my story, and confirmed that while the risk of rabies from the kitten was small, especially since it was a provoked attack, ignoring this was not an option.

As I stated to anyone who thought I was over-reacting, rabies is something you can only get wrong once.

Doctor D offered to coordinate things himself, by contacting the local health department and animal control officer. He then gave me his direct phone number so that I could call him with any questions or concerns I had. He also advised me to contact my doctor to let him know the situation. Ten minutes later, he called me back to let me know he had contacted animal control and the health department to let them know what was going on. Meanwhile, I called and left a voice-mail for my doctor, as he was out of town.

Shortly after that, around 10 or 11 am, the officer with Lander Animal Control called me to ask if I was the one who needed the live trap. I told him yes, and he asked me to confirm my address. I told him, and he said that he had been given the wrong address. The best way to describe his tone would be "bored indifference". He said he would stop by there and drop off a trap.

And then, silence. I was expecting him to ask me where he needed to set up the trap, or if there was anyone available to show him where the kittens were, or if I could meet him there, but there was nothing. Finally, I asked him what I should do with the animal when I caught it. "We don't take cats," he said with a slow, surly voice. "You'll have to take it to (a local vet that I'm not going to name here) to be put down and sent for testing." Not sure what else to do or ask, I thanked him and hung up.

More tomorrow... things get worse.

Part One of this week's adventure

This is probably the biggest series of entries I've ever made. It's been a rough week. I know there aren't a lot of people who read my journal, but I hope the ones who do will stick with this recap of the weekly events, because I'm still in disbelief over some of the things that happened.

Nearly two years ago, my two roommates and I moved to our current home, a mobile home on a city lot. About six months after moving there, our neighbor across the street told us of a stray cat problem in the neighborhood. We had noticed a number of cats around our property. In February of 2006, we got a cat of our own, a hand-me-down tom cat that needed a home. He was neutered two weeks after we adopted him. All of the cats we had seen around our property moved on, except for one black cat that frequently stayed under our trailer in the crawl space. I learned to accept that, even though she beat up our cat frequently (requiring a few trips to the vet for antibiotics), as I've never seen a single rodent around our house, and attributed this to the cat patrolling the crawl space. I never fed nor encouraged the stray to stick around; in fact, she would frequently disappear for lengths of time.

A shed sits close to our trailer; there is a two-foot wide walkway between the two buildings. The shed sits off the ground by about eight inches. About three weeks ago, I noticed the feral under-house cat leading some kittens between the two buildings. I counted three black kittens and one gray kitten, a beautiful young cat with a  light gray coat and darker gray tips on the ears and tail, and pale blue eyes. In the time we have lived here, this is the first I've seen of kittens.

Ike is our eight year old yellow lab dog. He's good with cats when they are inside the house, or if he knows them, when they are outside the house. But he does chase strange cats, and the first time he saw the kittens, he barked and ran at them. The kittens were just beginning to explore around the house and in the yard. Even more feral than their mother, they immediately ran for cover. Two of them climbed a tree, but by morning had managed to get back down.

One week ago, Saturday, May 26th, at about 9 pm at night, I took Ike out to the yard to play with him before going to work at 10pm. I heard some hisses, a bark, and the sounds of kittens scrambling up trees. The gray kitten shot up a fence post, climbed a close tree, and ran out onto a skinny branch in its panic. The branch was not strong enough to hold the kitten, and too narrow for the kitten to hold onto- the kitten was going to fall, landing on the fence and possibly hurting itself. Quickly, I reached up, grab the kitten firmly by the nape of the neck with my left hand, and started lowering it to the ground.

Most people look at cute little kittens, wild or tame, and fail to think of them as anything but cute little cuddly kittens that are adorable, sweet, and harmless; and I fall into that category, even though I should simply know better. Halfway to the ground, this tiny kitten that was only the size of my hand managed to twist itself around and rake my hand deeply with its claws, as well as bite me firmly at the base of the thumb. More shocked than hurt, I tossed the kitten away to the ground, and it streaked over the yard to safety under the shed.

My hand began to bleed from the scratches, and from the bite as well. There were three tiny punctures from its sharp little fangs. Considering the number of times I've had to take my own cat to the vet because of infected wounds from cat fights, I immediately washed the wounds throughly with soap and water, then rinsed with hydrogen peroxide, washed again, and rinsed again. On my way to work, I picked up some topical antiseptic ointment, and applied it during the night to the wounds. The wounds bled for around 10 minutes before stopping. I spent the night at work feeling silly about my own stupidity, and the thought of nearly 300-pound middle-aged man being so quickly beaten up by a one-pound month-old kitten.

Sunday evening, I started to think of something I had failed to consider. Cute as it was, this was a wild animal that had bit me, and broken the skin. Even only being roughly one month old, this kitten could still possibly be carrying rabies.

When I was growing up, the dangers of rabies was drilled into my head. Rabies was one of the most feared diseases for my age group, it seemed. We watched educational movies about it in grade school. Frightening stories of eight-inch needles and sixteen shots straight through to the stomach were talked about on the playground. House pets, outdoor pets, even barn cats were annually bundled up and taken to rabies clinics for yearly innoculations. Strange animals were to be avoided. The local paper ran front-page stories above the fold for each new confirmed case of rabies each year. Rabies was always spoken of with an upper-case R, and was deeply feared and respected.

Of course, neither myself nor any of the other children ever really knew what it was, or anyone that had ever been exposed to rabies, but it was bad with a capital B. But by the time I reached the age of 37, living in Wyoming and watching a helpless stray kitten starting to fall from a tree, all of that childhood knowledge was completely forgotten, as would probably be true for most people in the same situation.

I spent much of memorial day looking for information online about rabies in Wyoming, but there was little current information available. Doing a Google search for "rabies Wyoming" returned the official Wyoming Rabies website, http://www.wyorabies.org. Unfortunately, the latest statistics available there are from the year 2003. However, the front page did include this helpful information:

If you have been exposed to or bitten by a rabid animal call:

1 - 888 - 996 - 9104

Tuesday morning, after settling in at work, I called the number, and explained the situation to the gentleman who answered. He did not laugh at me as I feared he would; but rather took the matter seriously, collecting my information and then placing me on hold while he tried to reach a member of the staff (I never did find out what department this staff was a part of, so in my head, he was trying to reach the Wyoming Rabies Taskforce Strikeforce Department).

After being on hold for about one minute, he returned to the line and said he was going to patch me through... and the connection was broken. With a sinking feeling I began to believe that I was now on my own, and that I'd been hung up on so that no one would have to deal with the kitten-trounced man. Instead, they immediately called back, apologized, and patched me through to Doctor D.

Doctor D listened patiently to my story, and confirmed that while the risk of rabies from the kitten was small, especially since it was a provoked attack, ignoring this was not an option.

As I stated to anyone who thought I was over-reacting, rabies is something you can only get wrong once.

Doctor D offered to coordinate things himself, by contacting the local health department and animal control officer. He then gave me his direct phone number so that I could call him with any questions or concerns I had. He also advised me to contact my doctor to let him know the situation. Ten minutes later, he called me back to let me know he had contacted animal control and the health department to let them know what was going on. Meanwhile, I called and left a voice-mail for my doctor, as he was out of town.

Shortly after that, around 10 or 11 am, the officer with Lander Animal Control called me to ask if I was the one who needed the live trap. I told him yes, and he asked me to confirm my address. I told him, and he said that he had been given the wrong address. The best way to describe his tone would be "bored indifference". He said he would stop by there and drop off a trap.

And then, silence. I was expecting him to ask me where he needed to set up the trap, or if there was anyone available to show him where the kittens were, or if I could meet him there, but there was nothing. Finally, I asked him what I should do with the animal when I caught it. "We don't take cats," he said with a slow, surly voice. "You'll have to take it to (a local vet that I'm not going to name here) to be put down and sent for testing." Not sure what else to do or ask, I thanked him and hung up.

More tomorrow... things get worse.