blood on my hands...
I hit a cat today..
I was on the on-ramp onto 280 N from Bird avenue, going nearly 60 since I was just 10 feet away from the highway. It was late at night, and I didn't see this poor little cat (black, with white paws--just like Tux) until he raised his head at the very last moment--a split second before my front bumper rammed into him. He had blue eyes. Pale, blue eyes, white-rimmed with terror.
I had no chance of avoiding him--I simply didn't see him. It was late at night--just before midnight--on a poorly lit on-ramp (aren't they all poorly lit?) His solid black head and body blended into the night. When I hit him, I felt the sickening thud against my front bumper. *sighs* It was that last second--raising his head that did him in--I didn't run over him, but with an impact like that at 60 mph, he had no chance. My car is relatively low to the ground, but if he had kept his head down, I would probably have passed right over him while barely ruffling the fur on his neck.
When I first hit him, I had no idea what he was--I registered the sound, and the flash of eyes. The shock of it hit me pretty quickly...I tried to stop immediately and go back, but I was on the highway already, and cars were blasting their horns at the crazy driver slowing down to 20 mph. I stayed in the far right lane and took the next exit out--Race Avenue. I called Adrian, frantically crying, and in between trying to calm me down, he gave me directions back to Bird Avenue (basically, make a lot of right turns).
I needed to go back. I had to...on the impossibly tiny off-chance that the creature was still alive, and I could somehow save it, or give it a kinder end. I had to...in case it was someone's pet, with a tag collar that I could trace. I don't know what is worse: looking in vain for a beloved pet without knowing what happened to him, or to know for certain that he is dead, and to hear it from the killer. But I had to go back and find out. If it was Shadow that someone hit...I would need to know. I would need to see his body and cry over it...I would need that closure and that grief, and that chance to lash out at someone.
I had to go back. At the very least, I had to see what I killed...and to move it out of the highway, so it's not left at the mercy of the morning traffic. I had to bury it.
I drove back and parked my car at the gas station closest to the highway. I walked down the on-ramp--I'm lucky in that this particular on-ramp has a gigantic (one-lane-width) shoulder with a semi-grassy hill on the right side, and that it's late enough that I wasn't going to get myself killed trying to get the creature off of the road.
Walking down that dark path, with cars occasionally whizzing past me...was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I carried a few sticks with one hand, and my raincoat in the other (in case it was alive, and I needed to take it to a clinic somewhere). I had killed something--something that was alive 10 minutes ago, and is dead because of me. Maybe it wasn't my fault...that there's nothing I could have done to avoid it...but it's still my responsibility.
A few weeks ago, Adrian and I were driving down the curvy road near his house (Miller?) when we say a dead cat in the middle of the road. It was in awful shape--it had been run over after it's death, for it was flattened into a stiff pancake. We didn't hit it...but he pulled over anyway, and using a discarded plastic tray and a few sticks, we got it over to the side of the road. It was disgusting and difficult...the poor thing was stuck to the road with it's own internal organs, and there were feces and food squeezed out of both ends. Tonight, even though I didn't know that it was a cat that I had killed, I had that image in my mind.
I started crying hysterically as I approached it, and saw that it was a cat. I had hit the top of his head...otherwise, he looked like he was sleeping. No trace of blood anywhere, though he had a collapsed skull. I started to use the stick to move him out of the way...but the friction of the road made that a difficult and long task.
While I was doing this, a truck pulled over. It was a latino man, maybe in his 30's or 40's. He asked me if I needed help, and I explained that I had hit the cat--and though it's not my cat, I needed to do something about it. He clearly thought that I was out of my mind for doing this, but he grabbed a handful of newspapers from his car and helped me move the cat to the steep hillside. I'm afraid that it might roll down, but as long as it doesn't rain heavily tonight, it should be alright for a few hours. As for the driver...he offered me a ride back to my car--but kind stranger or not--I needed to be alone tonight.
I walked back to my car, feeling both relieved and sick to my stomach. Tomorrow--probably after the morning rush hour, I'll go back with a shovel and give the poor a burial. Now I know that some of you are starting to think that I AM insane (you're probably not wrong)...but I still feel responsible.
And I can't stand for anything to die without someone...anyone to give it some measure of care or attention, even if it's far too late.
(and I still can't pass a damn golden retriever without breaking into tears).
I was on the on-ramp onto 280 N from Bird avenue, going nearly 60 since I was just 10 feet away from the highway. It was late at night, and I didn't see this poor little cat (black, with white paws--just like Tux) until he raised his head at the very last moment--a split second before my front bumper rammed into him. He had blue eyes. Pale, blue eyes, white-rimmed with terror.
I had no chance of avoiding him--I simply didn't see him. It was late at night--just before midnight--on a poorly lit on-ramp (aren't they all poorly lit?) His solid black head and body blended into the night. When I hit him, I felt the sickening thud against my front bumper. *sighs* It was that last second--raising his head that did him in--I didn't run over him, but with an impact like that at 60 mph, he had no chance. My car is relatively low to the ground, but if he had kept his head down, I would probably have passed right over him while barely ruffling the fur on his neck.
When I first hit him, I had no idea what he was--I registered the sound, and the flash of eyes. The shock of it hit me pretty quickly...I tried to stop immediately and go back, but I was on the highway already, and cars were blasting their horns at the crazy driver slowing down to 20 mph. I stayed in the far right lane and took the next exit out--Race Avenue. I called Adrian, frantically crying, and in between trying to calm me down, he gave me directions back to Bird Avenue (basically, make a lot of right turns).
I needed to go back. I had to...on the impossibly tiny off-chance that the creature was still alive, and I could somehow save it, or give it a kinder end. I had to...in case it was someone's pet, with a tag collar that I could trace. I don't know what is worse: looking in vain for a beloved pet without knowing what happened to him, or to know for certain that he is dead, and to hear it from the killer. But I had to go back and find out. If it was Shadow that someone hit...I would need to know. I would need to see his body and cry over it...I would need that closure and that grief, and that chance to lash out at someone.
I had to go back. At the very least, I had to see what I killed...and to move it out of the highway, so it's not left at the mercy of the morning traffic. I had to bury it.
I drove back and parked my car at the gas station closest to the highway. I walked down the on-ramp--I'm lucky in that this particular on-ramp has a gigantic (one-lane-width) shoulder with a semi-grassy hill on the right side, and that it's late enough that I wasn't going to get myself killed trying to get the creature off of the road.
Walking down that dark path, with cars occasionally whizzing past me...was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I carried a few sticks with one hand, and my raincoat in the other (in case it was alive, and I needed to take it to a clinic somewhere). I had killed something--something that was alive 10 minutes ago, and is dead because of me. Maybe it wasn't my fault...that there's nothing I could have done to avoid it...but it's still my responsibility.
A few weeks ago, Adrian and I were driving down the curvy road near his house (Miller?) when we say a dead cat in the middle of the road. It was in awful shape--it had been run over after it's death, for it was flattened into a stiff pancake. We didn't hit it...but he pulled over anyway, and using a discarded plastic tray and a few sticks, we got it over to the side of the road. It was disgusting and difficult...the poor thing was stuck to the road with it's own internal organs, and there were feces and food squeezed out of both ends. Tonight, even though I didn't know that it was a cat that I had killed, I had that image in my mind.
I started crying hysterically as I approached it, and saw that it was a cat. I had hit the top of his head...otherwise, he looked like he was sleeping. No trace of blood anywhere, though he had a collapsed skull. I started to use the stick to move him out of the way...but the friction of the road made that a difficult and long task.
While I was doing this, a truck pulled over. It was a latino man, maybe in his 30's or 40's. He asked me if I needed help, and I explained that I had hit the cat--and though it's not my cat, I needed to do something about it. He clearly thought that I was out of my mind for doing this, but he grabbed a handful of newspapers from his car and helped me move the cat to the steep hillside. I'm afraid that it might roll down, but as long as it doesn't rain heavily tonight, it should be alright for a few hours. As for the driver...he offered me a ride back to my car--but kind stranger or not--I needed to be alone tonight.
I walked back to my car, feeling both relieved and sick to my stomach. Tomorrow--probably after the morning rush hour, I'll go back with a shovel and give the poor a burial. Now I know that some of you are starting to think that I AM insane (you're probably not wrong)...but I still feel responsible.
And I can't stand for anything to die without someone...anyone to give it some measure of care or attention, even if it's far too late.
(and I still can't pass a damn golden retriever without breaking into tears).