**There is no greater horror than the truly unexpected.
Its small, whiskered face rested on a black and white head that floated on a puddle of red. It was lying on its side, in this gutter that was otherwise dry with cigarette butts. Its two front paws clawed furiously towards the air, each motion weaker than the last, like it was drowning and soon will. Its little arms were brisk in movement, and it seemed more like a hummingbird now than a kitten. Its small mouth was agape, and its tongue, pink, was rigid with each weakening effort for air.
I cannot unsee this, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts. Could you?
There is this dying kitten a few feet away from me, and I am still of the honest opinion that cats do have nine lives. This terrible vision, however, modified my opinion, made me think, if you will. Cats earn their eight other lives as the go along in life, much like our vacation leaves in the office. This kitten, no more than a foot, didn't have that chance to earn more, so it's hanging on to the one it's losing. There was another kitten next to it, just as small, perhaps its sister, and it was smelling her. But it was cautious for its nose was a few inches away.
My feet were the troubled wind that rushed home. I cannot look back at it, because I will detect another haunting detail that I might have overlooked. We had a cat when I was around ten years old, and it ate one of its days old kitten because it was mad with hunger. I remember how small those intestines were as they littered our green kitchen floor. Meanwhile, I am now possessed of this gnawing urge to document. And I am writing this a few minutes after this horrible vision has tattooed itself on to my mind's eye. It is only a few minutes, and I hope that unloved little creature received the one appropriate mercy it deserves. I hope it has stilled its convulsions.