...the last dash

It was night, and I was driving down a busy street.
Up ahead, I saw a cat at the edge of the road. I could tell from his body language that he was debating on crossing.
"Don't do it," I thought to myself.
But it was too late. Before I knew it he was gone. Dashing across lanes, narrowly evading car after car and smears of light.
But when he got to that last lane. Smack.

A truck hit him full force and he was flung into the air, tumbling end over end.
It was very difficult for me to witness.
I doubled back and pulled over. I found the cat motionless in the road, and timing it just right, I scooped him up and wrapped him in my shirt.
He was warm. Limp. I could feel his body broken within. His jaw askew.
No collar, but well fed, and old enough to know you shouldn't go running across busy streets.
I couldn't tell for sure, it may have just been my optimism, but I thought I could still feel life within him.
I put him in my car and rushed off.

I bolted to the animal hospital, cat in arms, shirtless. I kicked open the door like I was in some kind of movie.
They took him to the back.
He had no pulse.
I cried.
I've always wondered why that happened.