(Azzy is short for Aslan, who is my cat in the icon up there.)
Now, the last time happened at least five years ago, but it was An Ordeal, in that the skin was sliced open and the tail debraided and he had to have emergency services and a cast on it and then had to have the cast put on again after he freaked out at the stitches and attempted to tear them (and everything around him) up. That time, he was trying to get out the front door and I tried to shut the door before he could.
This time, I was taking recycling out to the garage and had no idea he was trying to sneak out (he's not allowed out there and he knows it), so I didn't shut the door as hard as I did last time. Which is good, because as far as I can tell, he just has a cut (but not deep enough to bleed) and some swelling and bruising. He can move it, albeit painfully, and he let me examine it without even crying. I've given him some valium (it's his, because he is a very nervous cat and needs to be calmed the fuck down sometimes) to keep him from flipping (when he flips out from pain, it's BAD, but he doesn't do it much since he isn't in pain much), and he seems fine. But I feel bad, one because I hurt my cat, however accidentally, and two, because I had to do it while Jess was getting ready for work, thus making her life even more difficult. Which she definitely doesn't need. Sigh.
On the plus side, I'm not a sobbing wreck over it. Yay anti-anxiety drugs!
Now to go cuddle my kitty and feed him peanuts. (He loves them for some reason. Yeah, I don't know.)