This happened a few years ago while driving back from a home visit during the wee hours of the morn. I had just arrived in Milwaukee and took a route through the ghetto to my apartment on the eastside. It had been a long weekend and I was quite tired when I noticed a cat sauntering across the street playing chicken with my tires. Whether I was truly unable to stop or rather let my competitive nature get the best of me, I don't quite remember anymore. Nevertheless there was a thud. Well, maybe it was more like a thud-thud-thud. I looked back expecting to see the carcass of this beast I had just liquidated. But alas, the street was empty. No hide nor hair of the cat plastered to the street.
Perhaps it had gotten away. Escaped the destiny of becoming street art. Whatever its outcome, I wasn't about to stop in the heart of this treacherous neighborhood, knock on doors and offer my help or condolences at this time of night. Especially for this, a genus, the whole of which I think should be extinctified. So I continued on my way, grieving a bit for rubbing out one of gods creatures, no matter how much of a mistake it was to place them in the arc.
I reached my apartment unscathed, turned off the car and was about to open my door when it happened. At first it was just a shake. Well, maybe more like a shake-shake-shake. Then there were a few scratches I could hear coming from underneath the back of my car. I guess I had brought a trophy home. Yes, it was the cat. Stuck underneath the back of my car. It was a feisty lil' one for surviving the drag home. But now I was in a situation. I couldn't stay in my car - the vibrations from the shaking were making me nauseous. And I couldn't leave my car for fear of reprisal from this mad and obviously rabid cat. So I waited. Like you wait for popcorn to finish popping in the microwave, counting the shakes and scratches per minute waiting until the silence grows between shakes.
When she settled down, I made a run for it. I scaled the stairs and jumped into my apartment. Never looking back. I shut and locked all the windows. And of course, I double-locked and chained the door to increase the distance between me and this feline right out of Pet Cemetery. I tried to sleep, resolving there was nothing to be done until the real hours of morning. But cats jumping on my bed and scratching at my eyes kept me awake most of the remainder of the night.
The next morning, it took me about 20 minutes to get out to my car. There were a number of visuals I was having. A tail here, leg over there. Raccoons having a snack. A mob of people waiting to assault me. Luckily, there was nothing. Just a nice quiet morning. I did get odd looks driving to work though.
I drove around with the cat for an undisclosed period of time. Periodically, I would drive down a hill with a big bump trying to scrape what remained off my car. However, six months later, I was still afraid to get my oil checked for fear of any lingering evidence. Don't think too badly of me for this. It's not as if I set out to ruin this cat. Rather, consider it an act of vigilante. Ridding the world of one more gang-bangin' feline.