A mean white car ran over my cat Lapiz shortly after 9 p.m. Thursday on Prince Street in Kingston.
He twitched wildly for two minutes and silently died in my arms while still warm and bleeding while the neighbors watched in a weird moment of anger and sadness.
The car never stopped.
But as sad as this is for me and those who knew Lapiz, this is not news. There’s no journalistic value in any of this and my pain is irrelevant. I am keenly aware of that.
But I had told you I was going to write about life.
And nobody said it was going to be pretty.