Red Means Gloves
Being a red cat volunteer is something of an education. Today I worked with three of them in varying degrees of mania. Cat number one was sweetness itself and should definitely not be a red. She spent 30 minutes curled into my lap, purring, nuzzling into my arm and generally stealing my heart.

Cat number two was all lollipops and light until he turned without warning and nipped me.

Cat number three was the stand-in for the shark in Jaws. She (I'll call her "Lulu") had no interest in anything other than having me for dinner. She didn't want to play. She didn't want the yummy cat snacks I carry with me. She didn't want to explore the room. She just wanted to swallow my hand.

I would back off to discourage this behavior, and then she'd wander over as nice as you please and try to put me between two slices of bread and spread mustard on me.

So out came the gloves. I hadn't had a reason to use them yet, but Lulu was a perfect illustration of why it was suggested I invest in a pair of leather gloves. I could have used chain mail, but they at least kept me from becoming a shredded, bleeding mess.

The weird thing is that Lulu looks very much like Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) except that Cipher has never tried to digest any of my limbs.