This may be one of the weirdest things I have ever written. But oh was it fun.

Enjoy, and thanks to Kipper Snack (who has a story called Joshua Trips everyone should read), who all but co-wrote this story. Leave a review after you're done, m'kay?

Note: I love cats. I have one and would never ever hurt him.


Sophie

She was still very young, less than a year old and seemed as light as one of his stuffed animals. At first, he'd almost been afraid to pick her up - what if he accidentally 'broke' her? Her large blue eyes stared up at Joshua as she sat on his lap, soft grey fur still downy and fluffy from the kitten stage. They said her markings were very unique, as the stripes ran parallel to her spine, from head to tail, instead of across her back. His father had picked her out after scrutinizing each one, saying that she had very clear, innocent eyes that he liked.

Her name was Sophie, and she purred a lot.

His name was Yoshiya, and he was seven.

He sat in the middle back seat, fiddling with the collar of his new cat. Having adjusted the window just so, the wind whistled harshly as the Porsche sped down the highway at twice the maximum speed limit. Black and shiny, Yoshiya had only tried to defile it once before he decided he, too, liked the sleek, sharp car.

Warm and clear blue, Sophie's eyes tracked the slight movements of Yoshiya's dark brown hair, tentatively reaching out a paw to bat at it lightly. The tip of a tail twitched.

They drove in silence, except for the soft purrs of the engine and cat.

As only kittens can, Sophie soon grew tired of being stroked, and began exploring the back seat; sniffing everywhere, sticking her head into the tissue box, nose into the cupholder, and velvet paws on the T.V. screen. If anyone was looking, they might have seen the cat staring out the window, head whipping back and forth, trying to focus on one object at a time as it raced past. Light grey eyes watched in amusement, reaching out again to touch the striped fur, delicate tail - his Rolex wristwatch caught on one of her claws, but he shook it off lightly and easily as not to upset her.
She returned to him and resumed her sitting position on his lap, purring and kneading his jeans. He stared at her, wondering. He watched Sophie, perched on his thighs. There was something about kittens that impossible to not love them, he decided.
The boy coaxed the kitten off his knees - they were getting a tad numb from the incessant kneading - and picked her up clumsily. He wasn't sure if he was holding her the right way (arm under the front paws, hand supporting the back legs, little boy, the pet store lady told him). With a casual glance at his father, Yoshiya opened the car door slightly – his father didn't even take notice, seemingly entranced by the black asphalt. Not that Yoshiya expected any different.

The wind screamed as it hurtled past.

Ever so gently, as he murmured into her fluffy coat, he opened the car door even more, and gently, gently, ever gently, lowered her head onto the rushing pavement below. She was purring.

He held her there, even though the pavement skimmed his fingers a bit, for a full two minutes, watching the fur, then skin, then flesh, get stripped away. Sophie had stopped struggling after the first thirty seconds.

His father didn't slow down or stop.

Then he let her go, and watched the grey fur and blood bend into the pavement as they left her behind.

He couldn't remember the last time his father slowed down or stopped for anything of his.

Yoshiya screamed and kicked the seats, throwing the tissue box in the back to the front, wrenching off his golden watch and throwing it at the windshield with tears streaming down his face, until his father turned back to the store with a sigh and threw another kitten off the shelves into Yoshiya's arms.

Her name was Abigail, small and soft and ginger, and he took care of her for as long as he lived.