by Jeff Lee

Created on: July 03, 2007

I've ended a life with my bare hands. Killing something is a profound event. No, profound isn't powerful enough. To take a life can shake the pillars of one's soul, and to commit such an act without baring your soul for examination afterward is to be inhuman. To traffic with death can give the most headstrong and strong-willed of us pause.

A few years ago, one of our cats had kittens. Then there were four or five tiny bundles of fur in the house; they reached the age where they propel themselves everywhere on uncertain legs, at their speediest wobble, simply because they could. In between long naps they would scamper about, tail at mast, as they sailed themselves across the vast expanse of newfound territory, never tiring of exploration.

The weekend had arrived and we had company over. The small living room of our home was crowded with people, as usual. The kittens romped on regardless. The afternoon wound on to evening, time passing quickly with good company. One of our friends had gotten up from her seat, possibly to head for the kitchen or bathroom. She's a large woman, and moves at her own methodical pace, one much slower than the jerky gait of kittens. On her way through, her path was intercepted by our old cocker spaniel, Cassie, who proceeded to lie down right in the woman's path. She took an exaggerated step over Cassie to avoid tripping on her. As her sandaled foot came down, one of the kittens scampered directly beneath.

Now I've heard it said that the true worth of a person can be ascertained by observing how they behave during a crisis. I'm not sure how much stock I put into that. I agree that certain types of people react better during times of stress than others. However, people can't be judged solely by how they face the unthinkable. Such situations strip away any false bravado; they call people on their boastful behavior. Easy to say what you would do under fire, not so easy to do it.
There was wailing. I heard screams and exclamations of disbelief. Deities were invoked. The sound I remember most is of something living being broken underfoot. I whipped around the counter from the kitchen in time to see blood and a tiny black form flopping grotesquely on the floor. Eerily, no vocalization was heard from the little thing. All the cries of pain came from observers. Every twitch and jerk of its broken body elicited new screams, sobs, exclamations. Yet there was no action, only reaction. My girlfriend's daughter, who aspires to be a veterinary technician,

• 1
• 2
• 3
• Next Page >>