This morning, about a quarter after six and as the sun was coming up, I was standing in front of my window which faces the street I live on here in Covington, Kentucky. I was drinking a cup of coffee. There are many stray cats in my neighborhood and I watched one—a mostly yellow cat, try to cross the road.
The cat didn’t make it. Sometimes cars speed down this side street as there isn’t a lot of traffic especially early in the morning. The person driving this car didn’t consider the cat traffic or didn’t see it. Standing at my window in horror, I watched the cat get run over.
The driver had to know he or she hit something in the road. I can only hope the cat was killed instantly.
What do I do? Do I call the City of Covington and ask how this cat should be removed from the street? Do I try and do it myself—but then what? Do I bury the cat? Throwing it in the trash doesn’t seem right.
I remember once my twin brother had run over a cat with his car. He cried for hours afterwards. He had taken a life. Now I find myself almost crying—thinking of him, who is also gone now, and that cat he hit with his car so many years ago.
It’s just about seven thirty. I’ll finish this cup of coffee I’m drinking, then I’ll do something about that cat in the road. This morning, a life has been taken. Yeah, just a stray cat, but I’m sad about it. I’m wondering if the person who hit it with the car even gives a damn.
(Photo from photobucket.com)