Before you can go any further with this blog, you must answer a riddle.

What is not a ring, but you can wear it on your finger?

It’s not a worm, but it can wriggle into your life when you least expect it.

It’s more common than the portobellos on your pizza, but it takes the “fun” right out of “fungus.”

You know it, you hate it: it’s ringworm, and it’s wringing our nerves at Tabby’s Place.

If you’ve not been properly acquainted, allow me to do the dishonor.

Ringworm is a fungus that lives in the environment all around us. That’s right. Despite its name, ringworm is more like a mushroom than a caterpillar.  It gets its name for its squiggly circular appearance on the skin.

And it gets its shame for having an unrequited crush on cats.

When those dermatophyte fungi catch a glimpse of a glorious creature like, say, Trent, they just can’t stay away. Picture those spores like tiny John Cusacks, holding up boom boxes outside Trent’s window. They are smitten. They are persistent.

They are despicable.

Now, before we proceed any further, be assured that ringworm is harmless. It is itchy, unsightly, and insulting to all that is good and true. But, nobody’s life is in danger. Only their pride.

Which brings us back to Trent.

One day, the glamour kangaroo of our Lobby was hopping along, daydreaming about his own handsomeness as usual. The next, there was a problematic spot on his skin. We were not too concerned. Cats get “weird skin things” nearly as often as they get fresh ideas for world domination.

But, we are famously fanatical about disease control at Tabby’s Place, so we took the spot seriously. Our medical team took a fungal culture and pulled out the black light. Trent’s skin glowed.

Poor Trent thought we were about to fire up some lava lamps and play a little Jimi Hendrix. Instead, he was headed for Quarantine, which is as far from a rave as corn dogs are from corn and dogs.

Still, no one’s cheese was sliding off their cracker yet.

Ringworm couldn’t have happened to a more fabulous cat, but it was confined to one cat. The only thing ringworm loves more than one cat is racing from cat to cat to cat to cat, so it could have been worse. We felt terrible for Trent, but we would comfort him through his treatment.

Oh, right. The treatment.

Much as Trent would prefer fancy serums and designer cosmetics, the treatment for ringworm is less “self-care,” more “dunk tank.” Specifically, a (very gentle, apologetic) dunk in a (very stinky, chartreuse yellow) tank of lime sulfur.

It is not fun for anyone involved. But it will oust the wily ‘worm, so we can all get back to hugging and kissing the cats as quickly as possible.

After twenty-two years and a smattering of ringworm outbreaks, Tabby’s Place has a meticulous, advanced protocol for addressing the ick. This is why we’ve only had a “smattering” of outbreaks, even with a population of 150 cats. Add in the fact that many of our cats are immune-compromised, making them more susceptible to ringworm, and we could feel pretty proud of ourselves.

Unless we were about to get humbled by fungus.

You guessed it. Patient Zero couldn’t help but share.

Ringworm wriggled through the Lobby and Community Room, turning up on our beloved Berry, Atari, and Aries. Somehow, their friends eluded the fungus. But instead of rejoicing, we doubled down on battle plans.

Picture Wonder Woman wielding her Lasso of Truth. Picture Gandalf bellowing “you shall not pass!” 

Picture the Tabby’s Place staff, setting up foot baths outside every room, anti-fungal soaps by every sink, and tight rules around everything from laundry to love fests until this baloney is behind us. (With the extra time he’ll have in Quarantine, Trent is writing a dissertation on how baloney shows promise in ringworm treatment.)

We are not taking any chances. We are not laying down and giving in to a worm that isn’t a worm. We are not letting visitors gallivant into the Lobby and Community Room, but we are not sending them away. (Just come in through Quinn’s Corner, which has remained ringworm-free, causing all our FeLV+ cats to yell “wheeeeee!” and confirming Gator‘s long-held belief that he wins. What does he win? Everything.)

Most importantly, we are not freaking out.

As inconvenient as ringworm may be, it has slithered up to the wrong cats. Lime sulfur is a love language when the goal is getting better. The itch will end, and we will be skritching every chin with bare hands again soon.

And, leave it to Berry to declare Ringworm Ranch “epic.” Sure, he misses Peabody, but the private suite he shares with Aries and Atari is sunny and bright. Given their delicate needs, this trio gets out of being dipped, and is instead being bathed with wipes and treated with oral anti-fungals.

Then there are the salutary side effects on the staff. Everyone who comes into Ringworm Ranch seems to feel guilty, which translates into treats.

Also, humans look hilarious in quarantine attire, especially those shower cap hairnet things that are a little bit “lunch lady” and a little bit “mushroom guy from Mario Brothers.”

Meanwhile, Trent would like it on record that he never trusted that mushroom guy.

This too shall pass.

We’ll unravel the riddle.

A few of us may get ringworm along the way.

Yes, it likes humans, too.

I can neither confirm nor deny that I have had it myself, in a bullseye bright as pepperoni, on the center of my chin. I can confirm that I have totally gotten over it. (The ringworm, not the cats’ jokes at my expense.)

All of us will get through this. Together.

In all seriousness: Tabby’s Place is still open to the public. We’re just taking extra precautions and not bringing tours through the Lobby and Community Room, or to visit with affected cats, until this is behind us. We just ask that you enter through our Quinn’s Corner expansion rather than the main door. And, Berry promises it will be worth the wait to see him once he’s wormless. 

And if you need something asinine to cheer you up from all that, here you go:

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