Look Both Ways

 "Oh no."

That was the thought that went through my head early Monday morning on my ride to work. It came to me on the dark and busiest stretch of my commute, the one thoroughfare that makes me nervous as I make my way to and from home. 

This is not what you might call a happy story, but it does qualify as a transformative one. 

Turning onto Hight Street, I thought I recognized a lump in the street ahead of my. As I got closer, I was grateful that I had left the house a little bit early for two reasons. Firstly, I was on a deserted street before the morning picked up so that I could slow down and confirm my sad assumption. Secondly, I was able to stop and attempt to figure out what had happened to the black and white cat who was laying there. 

Whatever life this particular feline was on, it was over. There was not a lot of blood, trauma to the head had been the most likely cause of death. I imagined the moment that took life away: A poorly timed sprint from one curb to the other side. He never made it. 

I got off my bike and picked up the limp body of what I imagined might be someone's pet. Or had been. I decided to move it to the grass from which his ill-fated trip across the street began. Rigor mortis had yet to set in, and it flashed in my mind that it wasn't unlike carrying the cat with whom I live by the scruff of the neck. Except when I set this one down, there was no managed descent back to his feet and subsequent padding away to his next destination. 

This cat had reached his final destination. "Oh no," I repeated. This time for the loss that anyone might feel for this domesticated beast, or perhaps he as a stray, with a dozen different stops over the course of the day. He might be missed by the lady who put a bowl of water out for him in the mornings. Or the kids down the street who stop at the bus stop to pet him before heading on their way to their house. In those moments, I thought of dozens of possible former lives for this cat who didn't make it. 

And I felt the feelings I have for my own cat back home. The worry I have every time he gets out of the house and goes on one of his neighborhood explorations. I never wanted him to go out this way. Cars and cats are a bad mix. 

From across the street a voice broke my reverie. "Thank you," a woman said as she climbed into her car, "that was very nice." 

I appreciated the notice. But it was in fact the least I could do.