I think I will have to have the title “ignoramus” if I join this club.
I’ve owned feral cats before, but when I decided to get Fister up into our flat (he was over a year old), I threw all caution to the winds and forgot some basic facts about felines. He had enchanted me for months with his great big loving eyes, his (apparently) mild manners and his beautiful coat. So one day I said “He shall be ours” and began to prepare.

My first primitive attempt entailed a few shrimps and a little wickerwork cage and ended in ignoble defeat. How naive can one be! We carefully placed the cage beside the back yard door, Randi placed some shrimps in it, and we waited with bated breath. Sure enough, his curiosity eventually got the better of him, and soon he was halfway into the cage. That was when I made my first BIG mistake. As I tried to push him in the last little bit, he of course immediately turned and was halfway out in a flash. That was when I made my second BIG mistake!
Having had feral cats before, I thought I could subdue him by grabbing him by the nape of the neck and holding him down, so I grabbed him by the back leg.

To this day, I don’t know exactly what he did or how. The hospital wasn’t sure either. It took about a half a second, and there he was up on the roof. I looked over at Randi and said “I think he got me”, then I looked down at my hand. What a mess! He had practically torn half my thumb off and scratched long deep furrows up both my arms.
The next morning, still feeling a bit woozy from the injections and my unpleasant visit to hospital, Randi easily persuaded me that this was not the most intelligent way to tame a cat, and that we would have to use lots of patience and all our cunning. This is what we finally ended up doing.
I wasn’t the last grown man that Fister sent to the hospital emergency room, but since he has quietened down a lot since, I would imagine that it won’t occur again. I at least still have the scars to remind me of my thoughtlessness and lack of respect for feline independence!