I picked up a kitten on Cottonwood Road the other day. She was about 12 weeks old, black, soft and warm. She wasn't there the first time I drove by, on my way to take my husband to work. But she was there, waiting for me, when I returned.
I stopped, gently picked her up, placed her in a box and took her home to my other kittens -- the ones who are buried in my yard, the other ones I was unable to save. I wrapped her ravaged body in soft cloth and laid her with other much-loved kittens, where I can remember her, too.
How people can hit an animal in the road and then just leave it there is a concept beyond my understanding. Where's the compassion? The one time I ever hit a dog on the highway, I made certain that the dog did not remain in traffic to be hit again and again; I would not leave until the dog was taken care of.
To the person who hit this kitten on the road and continued on your way: I cleaned up your mistake. I'm sorry that you didn't care to. But at least this little girl ended up in loving hands and a peaceful resting place. Even if I never actually knew her, every kitten who dies deserves someone to cry for them.