The pathetic rocky road became red with blood. As he was wiggling for his life, his little child was a helpless innocent witness. Too helpless to cry for help.
This is a true story. A tragedy that I myself had witnessed.
It was past six in the morning when I saw him walking along the street adjacent to my apartment with his little child. He was looking at my direction when I came out from the gate. Suddenly, a white cab rushed through and hit him. I shrieked. I wanted to help him but fear pinned me to the core. He was mortally hit in the head. He was wiggling terribly. Then he expired.
It was actually my first time to witness someone struggling for his last breath.The worst scene was when he was looking at his child as the wiggle continued till it ended. That was the most terrifying. The most excruciating pain in the world one could imagine.
I was dumbfounded. No. I was miserable. The driver of the vehicle did not even bother to help him. A vile act, indeed. But, I saw its plate number. Maybe, I could help. Maybe, I could go on the witness stand to testify against the perpetrator. Or, maybe I could just file a culpa criminal against that driver, for the little child has no one but himself. His mother died earlier of the same fate. The child became an orphan in the nick of time. He has no one. He has none.
From afar, I can gaze the orphan child kissing his dead father. If only he could break the animal code, he could have shouted his grief other than “meowing” goodbye to his beloved father for the last time. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, besides scratching his paws and saying meows.
Yes. He was a cat. Sylvester James Pussycat, Jr. (not the one on TV). A victim of street crimes, of animal violence. Meowing the misery and angst for what happened to his father. Meowing for justice for the death of Sylvester, Sr.
Note: This was written in tribute to my landlord’s cat (no name)who was hit by a cab in the street and died this morning.