On Wednesday Morning, My Cat Died

This past Wednesday, I hit a families’ cat.

Her lower body was caught by the weight of my wheel. I felt awful, pulling over, trying to solve a puzzle I lost the pieces to. I wept at what I took away. My day, my week, ruined - a feeling of guilt I’ll never mend. 


Last Wednesday, I watched my sister’s cat die.

I can’t erase the sight of her body on the road, the stillness after the impact. I moved through the rest of the day on autopilot, stepping onto the bus and heading to school, numb. She will be fine. Mom will fix everything. A lie, I knew. I was sad, but I couldn’t help being relieved. The thoughts echoed and taunted my resolve. At least it wasn’t my cat.


On Wednesday, my daughter’s cat died.

She bit into me so hard when I lifted her broken body, the pain still radiates. Blood ran, stained her perfect fur as I felt her die. I thought of how I’ll have to tell the rest of my family. I keep envisioning the little house I was going to set up for her in the garage, the love that hangs in the silence of our home.


On Wednesday morning, my cat died.

I feel her pain. Her, terrified, the realization that her small life was over so violently. I see her fighting to drag herself out of the road. I remember her, how I had pinned a picture of us up next to her food bowl, just in case she forgot we were best friends. I hope my nose never forgets the smell of her fur lying next to me.

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