Roadkill

There was a cat lying in the sun at the edge of the road. At first glance, it might have been sunning itself.

But it was still, unmoving. Not even its abdomen moved slightly to breathe. Then there was the bits of blood on the pavement next to its mouth. It was dead.

The road was wide. The cat and the blood were at the very edge. Did the driver know that he or she had even hit it? Or did some sick, pathetic and twisted asshole swerve to kill it?

It was a tiger-striped cat. It did not look underfed. Its fur gleamed. From all appearances, it had been someone's cat. It did not have a collar.

Was it along a road that its owners traveled? Would they see it and learn that it was dead? Was a loving family about to be devastated? Would a young child learn, all too soon, that life is fragile and death comes for all, eventually? Will the child's parents try to tell the child and themselves about the Rainbow Bridge?

Or would they not learn of the cat's death? Would they be able to tell themselves that maybe the cat had strayed and found a new home? Would they reassure the child that the cat was probably fine, for cats are survivors?

Did they think that they were doing what was best for the cat by letting it go outside? Would they realize that because they let the cat out, that death came for it many years early?

Or was the cat a working cat, a barn cat in a nearby farm? Was the cat feral, maybe part of a colony that someone was feeding? It appeared to have been healthy, until it meet up with Death on Wheels.

No way of knowing any of the answers, other than the plain fact that a tiger-striped cat had been killed alongside a road on a Spring day. I only hope that the cat had known the pleasure of a warm and loving home.

If you have a cat, please keep it inside. For its sake, and yours.