You fucking cunt. I don’t care that you love your daughter and would never hurt her, that you own six cats and would never hurt them, that hey, I have this cat here you can have to replace yours, that I’m going through hard times right now, that I’m really sorry, I didn’t notice hitting anything and why are you shouting at me. It doesn’t give you fucking leeway to do fifty down the fucking street, crush my fucking cat, and keep going.
We loved Scooter. He was one of the most friendly and playful kittens I have ever had the privilege to know in my life. Every single day we would see him at a neighbour’s house and playing with their children.
Mariah rescued Scooter from a gutter, from death’s door, and bottle fed them back to health. Caira-my daughter-loved him to bits. He was her play pal, you know. Scooter was gentle. He never bit her or clawed Caira, and not a single thing, nothing made Caira happier than to just cuddle Scooter.
Everyone else here loved Scooter too. You’d never get him to admit it. Even Mariah’s dad. He’s a grumpy curmudgeon in the finest sense of the tradition, and I caught him petting Scooter more than once. So thank you. You ran down my daughter’s cat in front of her. I sat with Scooter while he bled out on the pavement. Even though his head and body were pulped, Scooter still tried to mew at me. I sat there with my cat, completely helpless, while he died. That, sir, was one of the absolute worst moments of my life, and I want you to fucking know it.