There's a pretty sizable community of stray cats living around here, most of them are feral and keep close to the garbage cans and dumpsters that are liberally spread around. On occasion I can hear them fighting, but for the most part they keep to themselves.
On the way home the other evening I passed by a cat that lost a fight with a car, and it reminded me of seeing something similar back when I was living in Micronesia.
From February 2007
I watched a cat die last night.
It darted straight under the wheels of a quickly approaching car, and with a rolling set of thuds was spit out the back. The black mangy mat of fur twisted and spasmed for a moment before gradually contracting its muscles into a fetal position.
Blood trickled slowly at first out of the eyes and mouth, filling in the cracks of the asphalt until the tiny red rivers converged and pooled together. After almost a full minute of inactivity, the cat went through a series of contortions before one of his eyes erupted and spilled a large viscous pool of blood and ocular fluid.
I stood and stared, unable to move. Like most things here, I had no idea what to do. I am used to cats as pets, almost human in their treatment. I was not used to a cat as a pile of twitching and leaking meat. So I stood and I stared, unable to move.
As the now sizable pool of blood cooled and congealed, a man walking down the street approached us. He looked at me, and looked at the former cat. Without even breaking his pace, the man picked up the cat by its tail and carried it unceremoniously out to the beach. With one easy swing to build momentum, he tossed the carcass into the approaching tide.
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