Cat got your thumb?

Photo courtesy of Rudolf Novicky

By Nancy Black

I no longer exist. I have lost my identity. And it is all because of my cat. The cat I rescued, no less, from certain death as she tried to hop across Skillman Street near Home Depot.

It all began innocently enough. My cat, now one year old, and I were batting around our paws at each other. Then, suddenly, her claw hooked my thumb. Not scratched; hooked, the kind where you have to back the claw out of your skin to remove it. 

Yikes! It hurt like, well, a cat had just hooked its claw into me. Owey!

OK, fine, I’m not going to die from cat scratch fever, or anything, though that is a real ailment. But I was left with a huge wound on my right thumb, which I soon learned is the key to my identity these days.

I found myself unable to open my cell phone via touch ID. The sensors didn’t “recognize” me. 

Fine, I know my iPhone password, so I entered it. But my dilemma had only just begun. 

I can now count on five fingers, including my wounded thumb, the number of apps I have on my phone that require my thumbprint to open. Those passwords I did not remember by heart. 

I had to revert back to the old school mass of folded papers I own on which every password I have ever used is written down.

Once upon a time, I fooled myself into thinking I would one day create a spreadsheet with all my passwords organized together in one place. Ha. That has never happened, and I have since heard that the safest way to store your passwords is on real paper, the old-fashioned way. So that is what I do. But, golly, what a hassle. I was really enjoying the whole space-aged fingerprint recognition software available these days.

Alas, I must wait for my thumb to heal before I can regain my cyber identity. And as I do, I will give thanks daily to the amazing advances we’ve made in society. Especially the invention of nail clippers for cats! 

Here, kitty, kitty …

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