A friend was on house arrest, staying in a guest bedroom at his uncle’s house. He had a small black cat with white paws named Psyche, but the rule was Psyche had to stay in his room.

One day Psyche got out and ran down two flights of stairs to the basement. I went down for him to get her and bring her back up. I coaxed her toward me, then I scruffed her and was holding her scruff (also supporting under her) tightly as I walked back upstairs.

I thought to myself “I’m being too hard on this cat” and I relaxed the grip I had on her scruff just slightly. She saw this as weakness and immediately went into battle mode. The moment I relaxed my grip slightly, she took one swipe at my other hand with her paw and then bolted when I dropped her.

The thing that terrified me was this: her paw went through my hand like an scoop through ice cream. All the claws worked as one to just scoop a little chunk of flesh out of the pad of my hand. Like, it was a 3D wound.

It was the first time I understood what a cat’s paw is. Those individual claws aren’t the weapon. The paw is the weapon. And when a cat’s paw is swiping, my flesh is like whipped cream in its path.