A Requiem for Spooky

I killed a cat on the way home last week.

A pickup truck was coming in the other direction.
As soon as it passed me, the cat darted across the road.
I was going slow already.
I hit the brakes.
It didn’t matter.

He was a big guy, all black, and very fluffy. Looked like a shadow with eyes.

I did a quick u-turn on the empty street, hit my flashers, and ran over to him.

He was still breathing as put my hand out to comfort him, but didn’t last long.
He didn’t cry.

I looked up in the direction he had been running; a house that resembled a well-worn and threadbare slipper.
There was a light on inside.
The porch didn’t seem like it would hold me.

Through the front door, I could see an older man in a bathrobe watching TV.
I knocked.

A silver-haired woman with bright eyes and glasses came to the door.

I asked her if she owned a black cat.
“A few!” She laughed, but then looked past me.
“Oh no.” She said.