I was driving to the grocery store one day and noticed a cat that had been hit by a car in the middle of the road. It was an orange and white tabby that resembled my wife’s cat. I was only a few streets down from my house so I drove very slowly past it to see if it was hers. After a quick inspection, I decided that it was a different cat.

I spent about an hour at the store and was driving back when I decided to take a second look at the cat. I was pretty sure that it wasn’t hers, but every time I’d seen her cat, all its guts were on the inside. It was possible that I’d made a mistake. When I drove back past the spot, I could see where the cat used to be by the discolored place in the street, but the cat wasn’t there. A quick look around revealed that the cat was now in the gutter by the curb. I assumed that somebody must have kicked it over there to keep more cars from hitting it. When I drove by, I gave it another good look to be absolutely sure that it wasn’t my wife’s. Its head moved and looked up at me as I drove past.

Now this cat was not mildly hit by a car. From the midpoint back it was pretty much flat. You could actually see tread mark in its tissue. I guess the only reason it was still alive was due to the fact that all the blood vessels had been crushed and it wasn’t able to bleed out. It had already survived an unpleasant hour in the street presumably dragging its flattened back half behind it as it crawled to the curb. I’m no great lover of cats, but I couldn’t see just leaving the thing there to die slowly over the course of the next several hours. I could see myself about to go to sleep hours later and think, "I wonder if that cat’s dead yet." As a good citizen, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

There was no way I was going to scoop up that mess of a cat, put it in my car, and take it to a vet who would charge me money for its euthanasia. Besides, it was already on death’s door. I was still living in Texas and had a carry permit for a .357 revolver, but I thought that it would be irresponsible to blast a cat in the gutter in front of my neighbor’s house. I left the pistol in the car and searched around for something to send the cat on its way. I didn’t really have anything suitable for bludgeoning something to death in my car. I took out my crappy little Honda jack handle and decided to make the best of it. Like I said, the cat was on death’s door. I figured I could exhale on it and it would die.

I walked up to the cat, which was watching me approach, and lined up my strike. The Honda jack handle is kind of puny. It’s shaped like two L’s joined at the base. Not an ideal bludgeoning instrument, but I figured it would get the job done. I lined my shot up to hit the base of the skull, wanting to put kitty down in a single blow. One for the money... two for the show... three to get ready... and four to go... I swung straight into the cat’s head. I even followed through. Instead of smacking it into oblivion and peace, the cat screamed as loud as a person, "REEEEEEE-YOOOOOOWW-EEEEEEEE!" and started flopping around on the ground.

My puny jack handle was knocked awry in my hand and now the cat was flopping and screaming all over the place. Feeling that I was committed, I started to windmill blows down on it. Smackity, smackity, smackity, smackity... not only would it not die, but it wouldn’t stop screaming. By now, people are starting to come out of their houses to see what’s going on. There I am, beating somebody’s pet to death in the street, my face a rictus of revulsion, smackity.. smackity..

Eventually, the cat dies. My hand is covered with blood. I’ve got hair and gore all over my jack handle. Several people are staring at me in horror from their front steps. I didn’t say anything. No, "it was hit by a car" or even "do you want some too?!" I just got in my car and drove away. I’ve never told my wife, the cat lover, this story. I just got home, washed my hands, brought in the groceries, and made sure my wife’s cat was home.