I ran over a cat the other night, at least I think it was a cat. It was black and ran out into the road right under my car. It never made it across my path. It was a narrow street and I wasn’t going very fast but I didn’t even think to stop. There was a bump, not a crunch as I was expecting, and then another bump as my back tire finished the job. I just continued to make way down the street to the corner and turned into the highway. All this happened really fast but immediately after and off and on for hours, I was thinking about it; what it might look like there in the middle of the road, if it belonged to anyone, if anybody saw me, if it was really even a cat at all…stuff like that. There may have been some remorse for killing whatever it was I killed, not much but a little, enough to think about.
I’d like to think I’m tougher. I’ve been angry enough to end a person more than once though I’ve never really worked up enough to be about it. I didn’t expect to be thinking about this hours later. I must be getting soft in my old age. This was just a cat, or some other feral freeloader like maybe a possum or a skunk. I’ve seen the latter around the neighborhood. I can already tell I’m curious enough to return to the scene of the crime if indeed I did commit one. I didn’t though or at least I haven’t yet. When I returned home that night I kept my curiosity in check and did so by a different route. By the time I do go check it out, there’ll probably be nothing left to see.
Update: I went back a couple of days later and there was no trace.