The other day in the middle of the two lane road I walk down to work I saw an animal, white and red fur. As I walked it came into view. A kitten just large enough to cup in my hand. Its face turned away, one shoulder mashed into the pavement, the other twitching and unnaturally bright red. It made no sound. The kitten’s shoulder and grey tipped tail only shuddered. I thought to go into the road to break its neck, but I walked past. Soon a city bus powered past me up the hill. I turned round. The bus stopped just before where that kitten lay and when the second lane was clear drove in a wide arc around the kitten, now even smaller from my place down the hill.
On the way home for lunch I scanned that road as I walked against the incline. The kitten was gone. There was no carcus. There was no blood. There was no discoloration in the pavement to say that kitten had died there.
I imagine that kitten’s perspective. Low to the ground. Weeks old. The whole world a city block. Play. Pain, immobility, noise, the burning black pavement.
Yet the bus stopped. Can you imagine?