It was 10:50 AM in Manhattan. As I walked to work I looked at my watch and realized I would not have time to stop for any sort of real food before my 11AM call at work. I stopped at a grocery and grabbed one of those canned plastic-flavored "nutrient" shakes. The guy at the counter, of course, tried to give me a straw and a bag, which I always found superfluous and annoying. I grabbed the can before he could put it in the bag and he set the straw and bag on the counter as an "in case you change your mind" gesture. Bleh. I shook up the can and cracked it open as I walked out and headed towards work. In my usual rushed morning fashion, I gulped down about half the can before lowering it from my mouth. I slalomed through the gawking masses of drooling Times Square tourists like the lumpy styrofoam pillars that they were. As I was walking across 7th avenue at 47th street I was drinking from the can and could not see below me. I felt something soft and heavy hit my right foot as I walked. Then as my left foot swung forward to complete its stride, it also met with the same unseen mass. I stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, the people from behind me walking around me on both sides, and looked down. While I am not a superstitious person, I could not help but wonder... If it's bad luck for a black cat to cross your path, what sort of luck would curse someone who had just KICKED a dead, mangled black cat with its guts hanging out, with both feet? I stood for a moment with my feet together, my toes nearly touching the carcass, staring in disbelief. Expletives followed as my already unappetizing drink seemed to transform mentally into the fetid juice of the furry meatpile in the road. The half-full can went in the nearest garbage bin as I reached the other side of the street.

That evening, as I was leaving, I passed by the same spot and the traffic-pulverized cat was now nothing more than a black, greasy smear on the road.

The next day I decided to tell the people at work about my experience.

"Awww! Poor Kitty."
"Well, in Times Square it would have either ended up there or in someone's hamburger."
"It was probably someone's housecat."

I smiled.

"Well... It's a Roadcat now."