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Almost killed by Little Beanie the "Tiny Tiger" - Fate Fairies - book version
This entry was posted on 1/17/2012 2:00 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies:Fate Fairies - book version.
Cats usually have lots of names. And of course T.S. Eliot wrote about just that topic. In the case of our gaggle of cats, I defer to the many names of Little Beanie the cat: Beanie; Beanie-weenie; Littlebeanie; Tiny-tiger; Beanie Kitty; Mini-bike Beanie (due to her high pitched long reverberating meow when picked up); The Little Pisser, The Mad Piddler, and, Sam's Beanie. And, she was named after our odd-colored fuzzy old and likeable pumpkin cat named Sidney.
Little Beanie never got to meet Sidney. He died at 15 years old, the fall before that cold winter Little Beanie was found on our farm house porch in a frozen flower pot. Sidney too had many names: Sid; Sidney-kitty; Sidney-bean; Kidney-bean; Kidney-Kitty; Sidney, and of course he had been called Beanie as well. Especially, the name Beanie was evoked when he had just peed on something. "Beanie! Stop that! Bad kitty!" The lecture was always to no avail. He would promptly blink his fuzzy eyes and rub your leg and purr.
The wise old Mama Kitty had led her late litter of three kitties on to the porch at our farm house hoping someone would save them from the pending Wisconsin Arctic winter. She was right....we were suckers. The kittens were dwarfish probably due to their late season births. They were too small for their age. Ol' Mama Kitty knew what had to be done. In desperation, the feral beast brought her babies to the enemy. Like a desperate and near defeated army sending their wounded and civilians to the victorious enemy. The two sisters survived, the boy died later the next spring.
One girl was a calico like Mama Kitty but its personality was not feral. We called her Symantha. She was very loving and affectionate. Little Beanie was just the opposite of Symantha and more like Mama Kitty in personality....a fiery bundle of furor; but, she was solid pumpkin yellow/orange - the same odd color as old Sidney. Little Beanie was a third of his size. Her original name would be.... Little Beanie. She would never get big.
Little Beanie was a terror. We had put her and her sister in the huge upstairs bathroom at our farm house, complete with a big sunny window with a screen that let in a warm breeze. Symantha tamed down quickly and graduated to house-kitty forthwith. Little Beanie flunked good-kitty skills.
When I took her to our local veterinarian to be spayed and get her vaccinations, she scratched up every soul in the clinic. They were all so relieved when I came back to pick her up. All of them seemed a bit embarrassed to have been roughed up by a tiny cat.
To give Little Beanie a wide birth, I took her to my Mom's house in Janesville to live with Sam the cat until we decided what to do with the property....and Little Beanie. Mom had died the past spring. The house was still in limbo as to what to do with it. Sidney who I had also brought to the house to keep Sam company had died to that fall. I checked on the house at least four times a week and stayed there overnight at least a couple days a week for my college work.
The summer of 2002 was no different than several past. The Mother and Father-in-law spent the summer in Lake Geneva. One pleasant Friday, I headed over to their big camper and the plan was to all go out for fish. I stopped at Mom's house to feed the kitties and do my ritual house checking.
There was Little Beanie no friendlier now than the day she was born. She sat behind my Mom's idle television which still sat by the patio door. I had put it there so Mom could look out into her garden while watching the tv in the last months of her life. During those end days of her struggle, a hospital bed sat in the dining area by that patio door. Beanie was sitting there catching a bit of sun coming through the big glass sliding double door. She gave me an odious glower.
I never give up - a fault my former co-worker pal Charles always claimed would no-doubt some day get me killed. Charles must have gotten a laugh this day as he looked down from what ever heaven he ended up in. Without thinking, I reached behind the television to pet Little Beanie.
"Good kitty," I said hopefully. "Poor sad kitty, come out and be friendly...."
There was a pop and a snap, and then a snarl. It took me a second to realize what had happened as I jerked my hand back. It was too late. Blood poured out of my little finger near the knuckle. I could see the bone. Being on an ambulance service I knew enough to quickly douse it with peroxide. My Mom had stashes of it everywhere. I held direct pressure on the wound and kept it raised. I wrapped up the finger, and hand, collected my ego, looked sad at Beanie, and pet Sam the cat on the head as I headed out the door. By the edge of town, I had forgotten the incident.
It was 40 miles over to Lake Geneva. By the time I got there, my hand felt uncomfortable, but I lived with a lot of discomfort off and on due to my blood and heart condition. By the end of fish fry, I was getting a bit concerned as the hand had swollen quite a bit. By the time we got back to the camper, the hand had doubled in size.
Heide had planned for us to sleep over night in the parents' big camper and enjoy Lake Geneva the next day. I thought for a couple minutes, graciously declined, and bid everyone good night. Off I headed to my hospital in Madison before the hand became too inflamed and I would not be able to get to my own docs.
It would be a 75 mile journey. I had plenty of time to make up a story. I did not want the medical people meddling in an animal bite. Beanie had had her rabies shots. And I did not want to have to prove it. I would tell them I smashed my hand with a hammer. What a dummy. Being an ambulance guy I knew it was obvious it was not an abrasion or crush.
In to my emergency room cubicle waltzed an old doc I had dealt with before with my own past heart and blood emergencies. As well, I had brought a few patients to him from time to time while on ambulance duty. This day he was followed in by a couple of apprehensive looking med students - a young man and young woman.
"Hey All-star," he said. "What in hell bit you?"
Busted.
"My little cat," I said defeatedly. "She has had all her shots."
"Not my problem," he said and smiled. I will treat your wound. If you have rabies, that is your problem." And then he gave me a wry laugh.
Two intravenous medication lines pumped antibiotic in me most of the night. By morning, they determined I need not be admitted for a longer stay.
Before the clever old doc left his shift in the morning, he popped his head in the cubicle.
"Hey All-star, too bad you did not wait an hour or two longer to come in," he said.
I gave him a confused look.
Then he explained.
"You see, the infection caused your hand to swell so bad, a couple of your fingers were only minutes away from being broken by the pressure. I sure would have liked to have had to rebreak your fingers and put them back in line again. I had a couple of medical students shadowing me last night. It sure would have been great experience for them."
Then he threw me that wry laugh one last time.
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"Get rid of that crazy little cat," came the mantra from every hill and dale. The chorus came from every friend and every enemy alike.
To the chagrin of all parties, I made it my mission to tame the savage little beast Beanie. I spent hours and hours petting her..., with heavy welding gloves on..., and trying to win her over. It took a while to dawn on me because she was so aloof for so long, that she had some of the softest fur I had ever felt. And too, she had the longest whiskers I'd ever seen.
Heide always said, "Some other poor kitty has Beanie's tiny whiskers; Little Beanie ended up with some big kitty's whiskers."
Sadly, however, I began to think she would always be feral like her mother cat. Maybe everyone was right - you can't save them all.
Heide would often wryly snark, "The only reason that little terror is still alive is because..., you are still alive. She better hope you never kick the bucket."
We were on the precipice of finally giving up on the small temperamental beast.
Then one day out of the blue..., she jumped up on my lap, put her head on my knee, and purred and purred. Apparently, she simply just arbitrarily surrendered her feral shtick.
She became my kitty in a house of kitties. For years and years she followed the routine, jump on the lap, head on my knee, purr and purr. She loved to be picked up and she would make her odd little high pitched long-reverberating mini-bike meow, as she purred at the same time.
She even won Heide over with her water antics. She would stand on the edge of the sink and give that famous meow until a trickle of water was turned on for her. Then she started the habit of only drinking out of the water bowl while lying down with her head drooped lazily in the water.
She won the rest of the doubters over once they saw how she went on to fall in love with Sam, our gray handsome tiger five years her senior. She shadowed him all day long and often slept on top of him in a heap. Ol' Sam was harnessed trained and would parade around the back yard on a twenty-foot leash. Beanie would hover at the door with her worried little face, like a possessive girl friend waiting for her boyfriend to get done playing a softball game with his beer drinking buddies. When he would prance back into the house with his macho bright red harness smelling like the garden, she would scold him with that haunting meow.
"That can't be that same cat that bit you is it Bob?" People would ask.
I finely won one.
Note: This blog "Fate Fairies" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Fate Fairies Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
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