Determined to get rid of those gloves before they can do any more damage you rush back to your room, only to find them conspicuously absent. You definitely left them lying there on the floor, and yet they aren't there now. What's going on?! It's not like they could have just walked off on their own. Then again, considering what you're going through that doesn't seem nearly as unlikely as you wish it was.
At that moment, you actually do consider what you're going through. A claw on your right index finger and your left hand replaced with a black cat's paw, cuts that slowly bleed out latex, and gloves that crawl about on their own? Has it finally happened? Have you finally snapped? Maybe all the various pressures of life have finally gotten to you, finally managed to make something inside of you just shake lose a little, not enough to send you on a homicidal rampage but enough to make you start seeing completely impossible things. Maybe you've died and been sent to a personal hell where your worst nightmares come true, or maybe the world is coming to an end and the laws of physics are going first! No, that doesn't make sense. You don't want it to make sense, at least. Besides, you don't recall dying and could (surprisingly enough) think of far worse situations, and aside from those gloves the world seems pretty much the same as it always has. There's still the ever-present possibility that you've completely lost it, but right now you'd rather focus on dealing with the situation just in case you haven't. Anything to keep your mind off your potential insanity.
You search through every corner of your room, and then move on to the rest of the house, trying to find those renegade gloves. You check every drawer and shelf in your kitchen; every closet in every bedroom; every nook, cranny, and crook in every single room in the entire building. Nothing. You'd almost abandon the search and assume that it was just your imagination earlier if your left paw didn't serve as a constant reminder of the reality of the situation. Even so, you at least need a bit of a rest, so you sit down in a chair to let you decide where to look next. Luckily for you, the decision becomes irrelevant, as the two black latex gloves suddenly leap out from beneath the chair and hold both of your wrists to the armrests. The one on the right cuts a slit into your wrist, bringing forth another seemingly endless gush of black latex that quickly encases your right hand in a paw that matches the one on the left, while the other glove shreds away the gauze preventing the liquid from oozing out of the bottom of your left paw. After this, they both let go, scurrying off before you can catch them and leaving both of your hands- er, your paws bleeding that infectious black latex all over your chair.
You rush back to the bathroom, hoping that you can still handle that gauze without either of your human hands. It takes you a moment to fumble open the first-aid kit, but once you have you realize that these gloves are one step ahead of you: the kit is empty, the gloves apparently having taken everything inside. You hold both of your paws over the sink where the latex can safely flow down the drain, hoping that it won't eventually clog and overflow, and try to puzzle through what to do next while you keep a watchful eye on the door lest the gloves attempt another assault.