Stop!—In the Name of You Suck

One night last year, around 11pm, I came upon a possum in the middle of my lane. The particular section of road I was on had no street lights, so I didn't see the possum until I was right on top of it. Another car was coming at me, so I couldn't swerve into the oncoming lane, and trees lined the shoulder of my side. So my only option was to try to go over the possum without hitting it.

I have a big truck, and I was sure I wouldn't hit it. I lined my truck up so the possum was directly in the middle. But the damn thing must have ran once I got close. I felt a light bump, like I'd run over a small rock. So I was thinking I hit its tail or something. I turned around. Bad, Ken! Bad, bad, bad!

Like I mentioned, I assumed I clipped its tail, not thinking about my gigantic monster truck. Turns out, hitting a possum in my truck feels like running over a pebble. Without going into the gory details, the possum was going to die. No doubt about it. I stood above it, almost in tears. I contemplated running it over again, putting it out of its misery. Not sure I could have done that, but just as I was thinking it, the possum made a horrific sound and died. I'm convinced it was "Fuck You!" in possum-speak.

I wasn't sure what to do, so I left it. For about the next two months, a giant splotch of hair and dried blood taunted me. I felt like a dirtbag twice a day for those two months. Other cars just turned the possum into a pancake. I felt horrible. Sure, it was a possum, and the thing would have eaten my face given the chance. But I still felt like a worthless piece of crap.

It was the first animal I'd ever hit. That day, I vowed to never turn around if I hit anything but a domestic animal. But others clearly don't believe in even that.

Today, going down Pearl Street, on my way to pick up my mother from the doctor's office, there were three cars ahead of me. The lead car, slammed on its brakes, then took a sharp left, cutting off the oncoming traffic and taking off down a side street. The two cars ahead of me swerved wide to the left. In the middle of my lane was a cat, down, but clearly alive. Did anyone stop? Pffft! No way. I did, though. Right in the middle of the goddamn road. Did anyone care? Nope. They honked, and flipped me off, and shouted insults I couldn't hear. Piss on them!

The cat was bleeding from its mouth and nose. I scooped it up and put it in my truck, on a blanket I had. The MSPCA was close by, so I rushed the cat there. I didn't think the cat would make it. Its breathing was ragged and fast. The MSPCA couldn't help me; they're not equipped for trauma. So they called the New England Animal Medical Center the next town over. I took the cat there. When I was almost there, the cat arched its neck and went rigid. The throes of death, I thought. (Is it wrong to have thought, Great, now this cat is going to piss all over my seat?) But the cat kept on breathing. I was petting it, trying to give it some sort of comfort.

When I got to the medical center and tried to move the cat, he let out a low, pained meow. But the cat moved its head, its eyes were more focused. I filled out some paperwork, and before I left the nurse said they were giving it oxygen and an IV. So that's a good sign, right? I was expecting them to just put it down immediately. Hopefully the cat just got hit in the head, by a bumper or whatever. It wasn't bleeding from anywhere else.

I'll call tomorrow to see how it's doing. I hope it makes it.

Last year, I brought a baby goose to the damn MSPCA (I blogged about it here). And the year before that, I brought in a squirrel. The squirrel, like the cat, had been hit, was clearly alive, yet everyone just swerved around it. Piss on them, too! And in both instances, had I not stopped, it was only a matter of time before someone came along and didn't swerve. Some people—worthless scumbags—would do that on purpose.

Despite vowing to never go back if I hit an animal again, I don't imagine I could ever do that. And it sort of disgusts me that anyone else could.

In an odd coincidence, someone pounded on my door today when I was in the shower. I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my sweet ass, and looked outside. Three people were in the middle of the road, and I could see blood. A guy reached down and picked up a dog, a pomeranian, clearly dead. I have a pomeranian! I almost ran outside just like I was, until I saw my dog sitting in a chair in my living room. I thought I'd somehow left her outside last time I took her out, and my stomach turned over on itself. A horrible feeling.

I dried off, then went outside, but the people had left. I dumped a bucket of water on the blood stain. I don't know what they did with the dog. Maybe it wasn't dead? I've never seen anyone else with a pomeranian around here. Either way, whoever those three were, they're good people.

If you hit an animal, just stop! It'll suck, but it's the right thing to do. Baby Jesus will love you for it.

Update: Sadly, the cat didn't make it. He was put down Friday night. They did a few X-rays and saw that his jaw was broken and his skull fractured. Booooo!

Also, disregard my comments about the "good people" that stopped after hitting the pomeranian outside my house. They didn't hit it. The owner of the dog came by while I was raking leaves yesterday to ask if I'd seen anything. The people that hit the dog never stopped. Two of those that did stop were friends of the family that owned the dog; the family lives a few houses down from me. The third person was the woman that lives next door. She wanted to first find out if it was my dog, even though the other two knew it probably wasn't.

Sad stuff. People suck.