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Red Paws Jason Quek 12 June 2004 The traffic slowed suddenly and through the windscreen we spotted the golden-furred cat sitting in the middle of the road. It certainly was alive, so was it just confused or frightened by the cars? As we neared, we saw red. By the time we pulled over and got out of the car, a young man had carried the cat to the side of the road, leaving me with it. My worst fears were realised as I squatted down. Its right eye was crushed into its skull, its left eye was half-hanging out of its socket, and blood was dripping out of its mouth, slowly pooling, like sickeningly-sweet syrup, onto the warm cement. There was nothing I could do. It could not get up. It could not meow. It could not blink. And its breathing was shallow and wet. It could only sit and wait, blood dripping, staining its tiny white paws. I could only wait, too. That was all I could do. It did not want help, though it struggle and suffered. It waited. Some of us struggle so hard to believe that there is good in this world, that if there be a god, that god allow not such. But such an incident just comes along crashes our beliefs and faiths. A life, one moment dashing, the next moment extinguished. And all for what? It does not make sense. It does not make sense. It does not make any sense at all. Never have I truly understood that there could be kindness in the six words that keep running through my head - I hope that you are dead. And because I left it still waiting, my wait for it will never truly be over. As I type, I cannot but look at the scratches on my hand. I hope that you are dead. 2863 page views

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