She was still alive when I found her in the garden next to the old tin gasoline cans and squash; her back legs tucked up near her head, on her side, unable to move. The beautiful dark gray fur of her chest moving slightly as she struggled to breath.

I wish things didn’t have to die. Even if this time it was just a rat, probably the one of many that crawl through my walls and chew their way into my closet to get at the food there, it was a life that I didn’t want to witness ending.