I saw a cat get hit by a car this morning. Of all the people on the footpath, and even the person driving, I was the only one who saw it. I watched it, even before it happened; I knew it was going to happen and nothing could have prevented it. It was walking on the footpath, out front of my house. When the cat saw me it froze; I froze too. It was wary of me, and as if sensing it was cautious I stood perfectly still, staring back at its dull little eyes. Two people were walking behind it and, spooked, it ran. It ran, without heed, into the road and into the path of an on coming car. I knew what was going to happen, as if itd seen it before; every thread of will rebelled in me and urged the cat to stay away from the road, but it didnt hear my silent, impotent plea. Instead it disappeared into the shadow underneath car, its body struck by the wheels. I didnt blink, I didnt wince, I just watched as if it were a fragment of life repeated; something that had happened before and was sure to happen again. The car didnt stop, the pedestrians kept walking, and I stood still, in sheer, fractured disbelief. There was nothin I could have done to stop it; even as the cat scurried away, on a broken hind leg, I couldnt hope to catch it. The cat ran into a hedgerow, nowhere to be found. The whole day passed, and I imagined this poor, wounded animal, too weak to carry its crushed leg, curled into a pathetic ball, yeowling for help that it was too afraid to accept. Where the cat is now, and what will become of it, I will never know; but I saw it, I heard the careless thump of wheels and heartless strides of people. I thought the cat was stupid; being too caught up in its current nerve and running, not caring that it ran into, what may well have been, its end. I pitied the poor thing, I died a little for it, and hopelessly chased it, to give it aid, only for it to vanish, as if it never was; and of all the people in this world, I was the only one who saw it. And now, I feel as weak and foolish as that damned cat; too caught up on what is, and was, to not see that I might be gravely wounded just as quickly, my life leave me so readily. It is the lasting sting; the needle of regret that plunges into you with every heartbeat. I am hesitating, I am stumbling and yet, so unlike it, I am that foolish cat. It does my heart no better to know that I bore witness to another life that is hurting more than I, and I at least know the pain will pass; it will come and go until the day I am struck by the inevitable, and it will be as if it always was. A fragment of life repeated.
Posted on: Mon, 28 Jul 2014 09:46:08 +0000
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