"Can we talk about the bloodletting?" she says, pointing to an inch-long scratch on her kneecap, right where the skin is thin and sensitive. "At one-forty-five in the morning it felt like I got shot."
The cat continues to lay on the bed, blank-eyed and half-asleep, no remorse while Katie leans over her.
"She totally Tonya Harding'd me," Katie says, ruffling the cat's fur.'