A Story with a Hook

by Tom Bentley (United States of America)

Making a local connection Marshall Islands

You’ve heard the stories about mothers picking up cars when their babies were pinned beneath—it’s a marvel the things we’re capable of when put to the test. But some tests just can’t be prepared for; consider my first surgery on a cat. I’d been on the Micronesian island of Kosrae for just a few days when my friend Jeanne got the call: Naomi, the daughter of an out-of-town friend, had a cat whose cheek had been pierced with a fishhook. Could Jeanne help? Kosrae has no vets, so the request wasn’t unwarranted—just unsettling. Remove a cat-caught hook? Jeanne turned to me, and I turned to run, but the door was shut. We nervously assembled some tools: needle-nose pliers, yes, vise grips, no, wire cutters, yes, hammer, no—what did we know about feline dentistry? We even brought along some dental picks that Jeanne had; maybe we could do a cleaning too. At Naomi’s house, Snowball the cat had sequestered himself under the bed, probably having heard Naomi’s phone conversation. We snagged him and brought him out to the living room couch, all lights ablaze. Recognizing that the major blame could be pinned on me, Jeanne had decided that I would be the actual surgeon. She wrapped Snowball in a large white towel, encircling in a respectful grip the frightened beast’s four fiercely clawed limbs. Jeanne managed to keep Snowball towel-bound while also pulling back his jaws. Indeed, the hook was completely piercing his cheek. As luck had it, the big curve of the hook was outside his cheek, and the single barb inside. I thought that if I could just grip it from the inside of his mouth and curl the end of the hook around, I could pull the big-hook end back through the existing wound. I also thought I could golf. Snowball’s eyes flared with cat fire when I began to tug at the hook, twisting it unsuccessfully about. He was kind enough to merely flash his incisors at me for future reference. OK, can’t angle the hook out; must go to Plan B, cut it in half. With the needle-nose gripping the hook from inside, and the wire cutters clamping the hook on the outside, I gave a good squeeze. Nothing. The cat kicked in his towel, indicating that he had a play date elsewhere. Intern Naomi wiped my face before my next sweaty attempt. With a sharp click, both pieces fell free. The cat scampered off, and both Jeanne and I considered heart surgery for our own pounding chests. We’ve heard that Snowball’s fine, but when he gets an arrowhead in his paw, I’ll be gone fishing.