Whose Cat?

I am firmly of the view that the way a society treats its animals is a true reflection of its levels of civility. If someone treats an animal badly, he or she is an uncivilized brute. So I am pleased when I see more and more young women, particularly, transporting, petting and hugging dogs and cats. These animals mean the world to them. They spend money on them and take them to the vet. It could be because they are disgusted and fed up with the behavior of human males, but whatever the cause, it is  heartening to see a society indicating a move toward higher levels of  civility, at least among the women, as demonstrated by the relative increase in humaneness to animals, displayed through clear interest in quality of care given to our fellow creatures. I still see stupid males  tugging pit-bull terriers by chains weighing nearly a thousand pounds around the neck while being compelled along beside bicycles sometimes over very long distances, because they "think" this is how they strengthen these animals for fighting. This is brutish and wicked, but I guess we will never be able to completely free, free-societies of this type of scum.
 But I can't help thinking as I drive along the nation's highways that I must keep a lookout for the nation's next dead cat. I see other dead things too, but it's the cats that get my attention, because my imagination tells me that these cats were trying to get home to somebody who prepared a  container of cat-food for them. I just cannot assume that the dead cat whose entrails  splatt amidst merciless, squelching rubber of car and jeep tires did not belong to a little girl at home waiting, calling and longing for her "blackie" or "shezie" to come home. That little girl now has to go to school and try to concentrate. So when I have a near miss of a cat on the road I am pleased. I instinctively move my foot to the brake peddle. I cannot help it, because I want all animals in the federation to get home.