Requiem for a little cat

I've never cared much for cats but you were young and kind of cute.
I might have come to like you if things had been different.
I'm so sorry.

And with those words, I pulled the trigger and put a young kitten out of it's suffering not quite an hour ago. The kitten, a black feral one maybe a couple of months old that nominally belonged to my neighbor, had fallen victim to a marauding pair of dachshunds that are owned by another neighbor about half a mile away. I heard the barking and the screaming and stepped out my back door just in time to interrupt the wiener dogs as they were engaged in killing the kitten, and they ran off, leaving the job half done. One look at the kitten told me all I needed to know--it was too badly injured to be saved. But it was still alive and softly crying.

Damn.

So I went in the house, got my trusty Ruger 10-22 out of the rack, loaded it with one round, and went back outside to do what I had to do.

In my life I've shot wild game, and I've shot people. None of that's ever bothered me, but I feel kinda bad after shooting this little cat, even though it had to be done.

Rest in Peace, little fella. Your life should have been longer than it was.