It figures that this thing would spread by contact, it made about as much sense as being contracted from a hostile rabbit. You lean up against the nearest tree, bracing yourself with your changing paw, as you struggle to, one, keep balance on your lapine leg, and two pull off your shoe and other sock without touching either your arm or the selfsame leg. It's a wonder that it didn't happen when you were walking. Not to mention your face. You give one last yank, and the sock rip away, which is good for your purposes. You finish the job. By now the fur is up to your elbow, crawling its way up your bicep and shoulder. You have to hurry...
Except... Your face.
What were you going to do, smart guy? Tie a noose around your neck? Well, it would be a solution to all your immediate problems...
You collapse to the dirty ground, seated up against the tree, a resigned sigh on your whiskery lips. You even reach forward, tugging at the earlier tourniquet, while you still have human fingers to manage it. You wonder- practical fellow that you are- if you ought to strip to the skins, although at the same time, you can't be sure how far this will go. Now, you suppose, would be the ideal time to panic, yet somehow you just don't have the heart.