In 4th grade, I was trying to save my cat (Well, kitten) from some dogs trying to attack it. I tried to pick the kitten up, and he clawed the absolute living hell out of that fleshy area on your palm (That one near the thumb). I run into my house, crying, washing the wounds with water, and my dad tells me to stop crying because it won't help it heal (He can be a real ass at times). I could not move my thumb at all, and it was pretty damn fugly. I go to school the next day, and I have to write with my left hand, since it was the right hand that was clawed. A few days later, I go to the doctor, and I have to get a shot in my ass. Yeah. I also still have scars on my hand from it.