The Killing

I witnessed a murder today. It was brutal, a slow torturous death. Happened in front of my own very eyes. The evening was going well. Miley, Lovely and I were having a walk around the park when suddenly, Miley came to a dead halt. Her ears perked up, watching, waiting. And then suddenly, she shot off like a bullet towards the swing. Lovely, being a tube light reincarnation of a dog, followed her 10 seconds later. I didn't think much their sudden surge in excitement until I heard a blood-curdling scream fill the summer evening sky. I froze. After my legs found me, I raced towards the source of distress as fast as I could.

It was a cat. For some reason, it had chosen one of the most open areas to have a siesta. Maybe it was the stupid summer heat. The scream was from her after she had been rudely woken up to find Miley’s filthy fangs on her neck. The cat wriggled and squirmed. Miley held on tight. Suddenly, the puss gave a quick, sharp right hook with her sharp claws that caught the three of us, Miley, Me and Mike Tyson by surprise.  Lovely was still trying to process the events in his dumb head. Taken by surprise, Miley loosened her hold on the tabby, which was enough for her to wriggle her way to freedom. She ducked and dodged the incoming Lovely, drifted past the slide, coasted past the see-saw and entered the final lap to freedom, to liberty. The finish line was 1-meter leap over the gutters through a small gap in the fence. I laughed in glee, like a maharaja, hunting for tigers in the jungle with his pack of wild dogs. This was the most excitement I have had since the world shut down. Meanwhile, the cat had already crawled through the fence and was about to pull out another Shawshank Redemption.

Suddenly, she stopped. The cat had reached the edge and, for some reason, had pulled the brake. She saw the jump she had to make and freaked out. Imagine that, cats afraid of jumping. "JUMPP DAMMIT JUMMP!!!" I yelled. Instead, she quickly turned around and tried to make up for the delay by sneaking a way out through the thick bushes. But it was too late. Miley and Lovely were on her like a pack of Hyenas. A second spine-chilling scream filled the air. Miley had grabbed the right front paw, and Lovely had grabbed the left front paw. Both of them proceeded to pull in the opposite direction. Lovely, surprisingly, had new-found enthusiasm and viciousness in his grip. It was the reincarnation ancient torture technique of Dismemberment all over again. 

This was too much, even for the sadist in me. I screamed and yelled at the wild creatures to stop it at once. Only after knocking some sense into them with the help of a chappal, did they drop the puss and sulk away. I tried to inspect the damage.

The cat was a goner. That was for sure. It was on its side, its 4 limbs stretched at unpleasant angles which would give my math teacher an orgasm if he was there. Blood oozed through her white coat from her side and soaked into the ground below. The cat's eyes were wide open, and though it's laboured breathing, it gave out small, guttural versions of mews from its broken mouth.

I had no idea of what to do. Picking her up would put her in more pain. Plus, I definitely didn't want to be bitten by a dying cat. There were no vets open, so that would be useless. Our eyes met. I looked into its yellow eyes, and it stared back. Finally, I picked up a stick and poked it. Its eyes flinched, but nothing else happened. It was as if the creature was preparing itself to give one final speech, like Amitabh Bachan in Sholay: “I don’t regret nothing man. Tell your children about my story tho, aight” or Tom Hanks in Saving Private Ryan: “Earn this macha, earn this", but none came. The flies were starting swarm around her. Her ears twitched weakly in a failed attempt to drive them away. Her end was near.

I thought about her final and fatal mistake. Why didn’t she make the jump? Why didn’t she take the risk? Was she, god forbid, afraid? Was she at the end of her nine lives? Or was she just another tube light just like Lovely? No answers came. I stared back into her eyes as these thoughts passed my mind. After half an hour, she gave one last small guttural mew and closed her eyes. I poked her again to confirm it. She was limp as a glove. The flies had begun their feast. There was nothing more to do. I covered her with some dirt, wiped my hands, got up and started walking back home. It was almost dinner time.

The sweepers will clean her up tomorrow.