As I was driving to work one day, the car in front of me suddenly swerved to reveal a half-crushed black kitten on the road. It flopped around like a fish on the bloody pavement. With seconds to react, I swerved as had the car before me and as also did the car behind me.
As I went on, I tried to decide whether I should go back and do something. I could intentionally run it over, as unpleasant as that would be. I could try to move it out of the road, but that might only prolong its suffering unless I actually drove it somewhere. It was hard to imagine trying to drive with a thrashing, bleeding kitten on my passenger’s seat or in my lap. Inevitably, I thought, someone on the busy street would kill the kitten before long, accidentally or intentionally. I ended up doing nothing, feeling that whatever the correct choice was, that probably wasn’t it. But I decided that I should figure out what I should have done, in case I encountered a similar situation again.
I mentioned my experience to a co-worker. He told me of someone he had known in high school—a football player—who had encountered an owl in the road that had been hit but was still alive. He got out of his car to help the owl and was struck by another vehicle and killed.
For every visible suffering animal in an urban environment, there must be countless others in places with no human influence. I am occasionally reminded of this when I watch a David Attenborough documentary or when I see that our pet cats have torn the limbs from a smaller animal, leaving it to die.
On my way home that evening, I tried to remember where I had seen the kitten. I didn’t see any remains in the dark, however, and I realized at one point that I wasn’t driving very safely as I scanned the oncoming lane.
The next morning, I saw the kitten again. It was nothing but a flattened dark shape on the road. The shape remained for quite some time.
