They were trying to reach into a vent after a lost tool. A skitty ran up and bit their arm. They pushed the skitty away and tried to reach again. The skitty attacked that arm again with teeth and claws. They backed up away from the skitty. Several sparks came from the vent. That skitty saved them from a lot worse injury. -- Anon Guest
Working on an old station has its charms. It has hazards to match, too. There's spaces that haven't had outside air flow in centuries. There's spaces that have their own weather. There's spaces that have their own ecosystems.
We contain viral outbreaks with vaccine drones. It's not just intelligent life that's at risk from those things.
In places like this, it can be dangerous to get complacent. Unfortunately, complacency is stupid-easy to acquire. Such as not really looking when putting tools back in the toolbelt when you're already up a scaffold.
That was my dumb mistake. The first in a chain of them that could have would up with me on the Missing roster.
Second was climbing down after it. Tools are easily replaced. People aren't. On a station like this? You need people more than tools. But I also didn't want to hall ass all the way to the nearest working printer to get a spare. I thought I had it handled.
I was wrong.
Third was sticking my arm into a freshly-broken grate. Tetanus is still a risk. More so with old, rusty metal. Then the other hazard of uncleared spaces made itself known. Sharp, pointy, territorial wildlife.
What was weird was that it wasn't breaking skin, and it was trying to tug me away. Small, yes. Worryingly fuzzy, yes. And attempting to drag my hand back to that from whence it came.
I pulled my arm out and with it came a Skitty. Half-grown and still attached to my shirt cuff. Skitties weren't made to be territorial, so this little catling confused me. I detatched them and tried to go back in after my tool. Mistake five, if you're keeping count.
Fuzzbutt grabbed hold of my sleeve again and started tugging. Growling and yowling and pulling with all their might. Which wasn't a lot because... kitten.
Just as I found the handle of my tool, I felt the heat. A sting of a spark hit my hand. I yanked out the tool just instants before something else down there fully caught fire. Of course I hosed it all with retardant foam and called in the problem area to Central.
The Skitty? Well. After my arm was nice and safe, it decided I was its person. He just climbed up onto my shoulder, smudged at my cheek, and purred up a storm. I'm calling him Marmalert. He's a smart cat.
[Photo by Rifqi Ali Ridho on Unsplash]
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Toes, when she was younger, attacked my foot like that once as I was sleepily heading down the hall. I turned on the light to see what was going on, and saw I nearly stepped, barefoot,onto a wasp that had somehow gotten in and was stuck on the sticky tape that, at the time, was along the edges of the hall, with some of it stuck out into the hallway, covering the trim as we'd just painted.
Stingers in the foot don't feel good. Long story short, grabbed a swatter and squished the wasp, and once it was disposed of, gave my kitty lots of scritches.
That's a good kitty :)