I'm pretty sure that Bob is the most expensive rescue animal on the planet. Not because we paid for him. Nope. He just showed up in our back yard one day, obviously interested in getting our attention, but not particularly comfortable with human interaction. He was expensive because of the medical bills that followed (not his, mine.)

After nearly a week of putting out food and water, I finally worked up the nerve to touch him. At first, everything was fine. Then, for reasons I'll never know, he got spooked. Without warning, he went into full-on "self defense" mode. In what seemed like an impossibly short second, my palm bled from four teeth marks and deep scratches ran up and down my left arm.

I'm not going to lie: I was angry. My husband threatened to call the humane society to have him destroyed. Once the shock passed, we transitioned into medical mode and called the family doctor who recommended rabies shots. I got the first shot at a 24-hour clinic. The next round had to be administered at the ER because special shots called "immunoglobulins" were recommended. This involved a needle in each and every wound. At one point the pain was so great I had to ask for a few seconds to collect myself. Thank goodness, it was all done shortly thereafter. But I still needed to follow up with four more regular rabies shots to complete the course.

We were gobsmacked when we received the insurance bill. The immunoglobulin shots cost $16,000. Yes, that's right. $16,000. Thankfully, they were covered in full. But, the ER had sent me to that hospital's infectious disease department - within the exact same hospital system considered "in network" for my insurance - for the remaining four shots. THAT department was exempt from my insurance plan, I soon learned. I was left with a bill for more than $4,000 and a cat that my husband had not only now made peace with, but decided to keep. As an indoor cat. Winter was coming, my husband declared, and this cat was not ready.

And so, I introduce you to Bob, the grouchiest art consultant you'll ever meet. The bad news: he still bats at me sometimes. The good news: he never uses his claws, just the large soft pads of his paws.

We may have gotten off to a rough start, but he's part of the family now. There may be a spat here and there. But isn't that true for all families?