Plenty of us have plowed over an animal or two with our car, but is it some kind of “girl thing” to completely freak out when it happens? Or have some of you menfolk also blubbered over the murder and/or destruction of one of God’s fine creatures? Los Cuatro Ojos offers up this freaking out by a girl, but I should warn you, it’s a little disturbing, so don’t go over there if you are easily disturbed by seeing others disturbed over more than disturbing a bird.
Hey, what’s the last thing that goes through a bug’s mind as he hits the windshield?
His ass.
* * *
It was October of 1981. I had a cream-colored 1973 Datsun 710 with over 100,000 miles (because when your father owns a towing service, you get the vehicle dregs for your birthday, the nasty crap that people neglect to pick up because the tow bill costs more than the car is worth. Dad had replaced the broken parts with slightly less broken used parts, hammered out the dents, spackled the hell out of the holes, poured a gallon of crappy cream colored paint over it and presented it like a long stem single red rose.)
Where was I? Oh right, driving to the high school junior class’ float-building barn during Homecoming season. Two classmates accompanied me, and we were probably playing some popular album in my cassette player; let’s say it was Foreigner 4 or maybe REO Speedwagon. We cruised down a lonely rural two-lane highway toward Simms Ranch, today a small oasis in an over-built cookie-cutting suburb south of Sacramento.
We gabbed and giggled with the innocence of youth, unencumbered by the tragedies and disappointments that jade you over time. We were teenagers. The world was our oyster, and my car was the cream colored pearl sliding through the slimy muscle of the boondocks. We were immortal. And then an orange tabby cat sailed into my right wheel well, crunching out its life and part of mine with it.
You see roadkill all the time, never thinking that a person took the life of that animal and may have been traumatized by it. Until it’s your turn.
I was a shaking, adrenaline-fueled mess when I pulled over. My friend walked back to the cat and returned with a solemn face. “You don’t want to go back there,” he said. I had no idea what to do. There was no procedure manual in the glove compartment for whacking kitties.
The ranch houses along the quiet road were acres apart, but I felt I should tell someone about it, so we drove up the long dirt driveway of the nearest house. What the hell was I going to say?
When a woman opened the door, I nervously asked, “Hi, uh, do you, I mean, did you know anyone with an orange cat?”
“Yes,” she said.
I told her I had accidentally hit it and it died.
“Oh, bummer.” She didn’t cry out or scream or anything. I was clearly more upset than she was. “Oh, poor Bummer,” she said again.
It took me a second.
“You mean the cat’s name was Bummer?” I asked.
“Yes. Well, it’s not our cat, but our neighbor’s. But you don’t have to tell them. I will, you’ve been through too much already.”
Bewildered, then relieved, we left. I was still shaky but managed to fold tissue paper into flowers that October night while completely pre-occupied with the thought of having taken the life of another living thing. Someone’s pet. Bummer.
Fast forward a couple of months to basketball season. I was the manager for the boys varsity team, which is a glorified term for “gopher”. I gathered up the uniforms that the boys threw on the floor while warming up, gave them water bottles during the game, and accompanied them into the locker room while the coach ripped them a new one during half-time (perhaps a peek at future parenting, and therefore one of my deterrents from it).
Coach and Mrs. Coach hosted a Christmas party (back then, December 25th was called Christmas) for the team at their house and Matt, their four-year-old took an instant liking to me. The feeling was mutual. He was such a cutie. (This is the kind of peek at future parenting you get that tries to persuade you it will be all puppies and rainbows). Later, the coach would tell me that Matt carried on around the house with his imaginary friend, Margaret (that’s me, for you new readers) for a long time.
So anyway, at this party, Matt sat in my lap while we read one of his books about animals. We paged through and discussed goats and pigs and horses. Matt turned the page to the kitties and said, “We used to have a cat like that, but it got hit by a car.”
He pointed to the orange cat. I slowly realized Coach’s house was on that same two-lane highway as the float-building barn. Oh my God, I killed Matt’s cat! Talk it through, man, just talk it through. Don’t just sit there, you idiot.
“Oh, really?” I said. My body detached and floated above the noisy Christmas party with the turkey, stuffing, punch bowl, fireplace, Christmas tree, and the little kid sitting in the girl’s lap with a book.
“Yeah…” said Matt.
“Ohhh…I’m sorry…”
“Yeah…”
I quickly turned the page as memories from October pushed their way into my brain. (“Oh, poor Bummer”) My robot self read the words while the emotional me jumped up and down and screamed and cried and more or less had a heart attack. Not unlike the girl in the video on Los Cuatro Ojos’ site.
Was I a chicken for not fessing up to Coach that I had killed the family cat? Or was it unnecessary? It’s not like I was hiding some political scandal, afraid of ruining my career as a uniform picker upper or anything, but I never told them. And I could never tell Matt. Your imaginary friend is not supposed to break your heart.
Perhaps it was karma, or just dumb luck, then, that I should mangle a deer late one night on my six-hour drive up foresty Highway 101 to college. Thank goodness by then I had graduated to a four wheel drive truck, or Bambi would have done more than tear up my fender.
* * * SHOUT OUTS * * *
Tricia over at Papercages bitches about the heat so much, I could swear she’s talking about Sacramento. And she bitches about driving long distances so much (anything past her driveway), I could swear she’s talking about me. Regardless, I would like to thank her for adding Nanny Goats In Panties to her blog roll!
One of my favorite blogs to read lately is David (aka Munch) of Free Soup With Purchase. He’s mean, funny, edgy and surprising – my kind of writer! For a sample of what I mean, check out a recent post entitled Here Comes Poor Charlie. And Thanks, Munch, for adding Nanny Goats to your blog roll!
I eat roadkill
I find the waste of perfectly good food appalling. On occasion I have felt bad for particular vehicular/mammalian interactions.
In high school I had pickup truck (a loud obnoxious pickup truck). One day as I was returning home around dusk (about midnight, I live in Alaska) I rounded a corner and saw the neighbor boy (about 5yo) and his mother on the side of the road opposite their house. I eased the truck over to the center of the road to give them some room and wondered why they were there at that hour. As I came up parallel to them I thought “oh well” and stood on the gas to accelerate away from the corner…
When I felt the bump.
I’m sure the kid thought I swerved and accelerated to intentionally hit his dog. But even I am not that crass.
I didn’t see that he had been out looking for his dog and that he had called the dog.
The more I read this, the more I started to worry you were going to tell us you ran over the 4-year old too.
Oh my gosh! that was awful.
I can’t believe I even wrote that.
On a much more serious note, it was a total bummer than you killed Bummer.
This was a really well written post.
I have never mentioned this to anyone ever but I’ll tell you. I am so extra sensitive towards animals and insects that I once ended up burying an ant in a pot. I even cried becasue I killed it unnecessarily, I just had an urge to sqash it. I don’t know what I would have done had I been in your place. You are a brave girl Margaret.:)
Bummer, Bummer.
Remind me not to drive in the same city as you:)
How awful for you, Matt and Bummer.
I hit a pretty yellow bird about seven years ago and still feel bad. The feathers rode around on my grate for about three weeks because I couldn’t bring myself to touch any part of it.
Ohhhh…. Bummer is right. The cat’s name was Bummer.
My gosh– you might as well just call the cat “FlatCat” or “Roadkill” or something like that when you go ahead and name it Bummer…
It doesn’t bode well, is what I’m saying.
I can only imagine how you feel.
But blogging is closure, you know.
What possible good would it have done to tell him? I think that keeping it to yourself was the best thing. I would have had to hide in the bathroom and cry though.
I once had a woman scream her head off at me in the middle of the road because someone hit a bird. She was standing there cupping this wretched looking starling or something and I slowed down because I was about to ask her if she needed help and she said, “Get the hell out of the way you fat f-ing bitch!” Um, okay. I’m glad you are so concerned about the birdies of the air, because you are pretty much a douchenozzle as far as people go. And way to completely over-react, anyhow. I’ve put broken people in white bags with zippers and didn’t make that much noise.
If I had a nickel for every animal I’ve hit with a car … ahhhhhh
My first road kill involved two cats chasing each other across the road. I was still crying so hard when I arrived home, my mother thought something was seriously wrong with me. I wouldn’t have been able to tell Matt I’d run over his cat either. Nope, I would have kept silent, Karma be damned.
I have to drive through forest preserve areas to get to work. Iâm always afraid a possum, raccoon, skunk, deer will come barreling out and not give me enough time to avoid it.
However, if itâs me or it, Iâm slightly higher in the food chain so itâs going down. :o)
I hit a bird once, and I felt sooooo bad about it! That’s the only animal I’ve ever hit though.
Good post! A cat for me….I didn’t freak but I got out to make sure he wasn’t suffering.
Also, your joke: It’s actually *after* he hits the windshield. Before he hits it, his ass is right where it belongs. 🙂
Thank’s for the idea with your comment! I would have to think on whare I would point (I have young readers)I just couldn’t believe that OLD nanny (yes pun intended) said that!
Please stop by my other blog “Ask me why” and play the game some time.
Thanks again, Ken
Oh, that’s too bad for the kitty! I would have been beside myself. I ran over a snake with a lawnmower once when I was younger. I had a burial for it. Even made a tombstone. Poor snake in the grass.
I wouldn’t have told them either. No point. Also, you’re lucky you didn’t get killed hitting that deer.
I once hit and killed a squirrel. By my reaction you’d have thought it was one of my own kids.
okay, loved this! what are the odds. but you made the right choice, you would have ruined him for life. LIFE!
Your name caught my I while reading comments on Just a girls blog. I glad I stopped buy!. very ehh funny in a sad kinda poor you way! lol
I’m naming my next cat Bummer.
And yeah – hitting animals pretty much sucks. I hit this HUGE dog that just ran right out into the middle of the road. I couldn’t brake or anything. *sadness*
I hit a raccoon when I was in high school – ran right over the little guys head – and I was upset for hours. I hit a cat once while I was riding my bicycle but, luckily, she was O.K.
Does finding this post entertaining (actually I LOL’ed) make me a bad person?
But I keep my cats indoors because I’ve lost one or two to the road…Couple of dogs too.
Got a deer once myself… With a Subaru…Wrecked my front end.
But he was tasty!
I don’t think anybody would blame you for not saying anything to the little boy about hitting his cat. You were just a kid yourself.
I’m lucky, the only thing I’ve ever hit was a bird that swooped in front of my car. I still felt bad about it though.
NGIP–Thanks for the mention. And no, not Sac–Redding (groan).
I, um, don’t know if I should, er, tell you this…
Well, maybe I won’t…
Well, it wasn’t MY fault, it just ran out in front of my car, and don’t ask ME what the damn thing was doing, running loose in the suburbs at 1 am on a Saturday…
But, um, yeah. Uh. I, well, uh, hit a goat.
Yes, I am going to spend an eternity in barnyard purgatory for goatslaughter with a 1978 Pinto.
Bummer Bummer. I would have a heart attack if I hit a pet. I understand your reaction. But just think, Bummer is now traffic hazard free in kitty heaven. No more playing frogger for him! 🙂
oh bummer dude! poor matt. poor you. sorry…
hugs, bee
xoxoxoxxoxoxoxo
One chilly October evening six years ago I was coming home from a girlfriend’s house after picking up a dog crate for the very pregnant foster dog I had in the back of my 1988 Nissan station wagon. At that time, her subdivision was at the cusp of the What Once Were Woods, and a good many deer still cavorted about the area not realizing that they’d been evicted by Progress. As I drove along Durant Road, one such deer (a fair sized doe I believe) cavorted directly into my path. I stood the car on its nose, reefed into a 3-G left bank and almost missed her altogether. But my right front fender clipped her right rear quarter panel, leaving a nice little wrinkle behind my right headlight and probably a nice bruise on her right hip.
I say “probably” because the doe fled the scene. Without even stopping to exchange insurance information or anything.
B*tch.
Thanks for the shout out! Nanny Goats has been my new favorite blog and I hope everybody hauls themselves over here for the fun times. Running over orange cats is an exception to that, though. Not so much fun.
Poor Bummer. I used to spend about an hour a week washing dead possum parts off my car back in the day I drove back country roads.
What if…a bra suddenly flew into your windshield!?? :O
Haven’t commented for a while too many blogs to write and read and too little time…so sorry.
yOUr title in my reader caught me and I had to stop and read it.
Unfortunate events have a way of catching up to us.
O.