, who is training to be a firefighter, tells this story here
So, my new turnout gear is in the house for all of three minutes before the cat decides she's going to lay claim to it with a full-on front-claws scratch attack. I cringe in anticipation of the rip-rip, rip-rip of thousand-dollar lifesaving gear gaining some non-standard ventilation holes. But that's not what happens-- no, the poor little dear gets stuck. Claws firmly fixed in the material, tugging frantically and yowling, with that wide-eyed, desperately bewildered look worn by cats whose dignity has just been compromised.
Any other creature would save a look that hopeless for, say, being doused in flaming gasoline, or bitten in half by a shark.
Cat, meet Nomex and Kevlar. Nomex and Kevlar, meet Cat.
I let the poor little sweetheart have her physics lesson for about fifteen long seconds before I extricated her and gave her some chicken as a consolation prize. One guess as to who won't be screwing with my gear again any time soon. Hell, I feel better already. Anything that can survive an irate housecat should be able to take a few dozen residential fires without a scratch.