When I was thirteen my cat Oscar walked up to me with a lifeless bird in his mouth. I shooed him away and went to grab the bird he had dropped while scurrying off, to see how badly he was hurt. The bird was barely twitching, so I decided to put him out of his misery.

As I lifted my sneaker over his head to crush his skull my heart pounded quickly through my chest and I told myself “It has to be done.” All of a sudden my qualms about murder washed away, and as I started to put my full body weight into my thigh to stomp him out he opened his eyes and looked up at me.

It stopped me, like a car hitting a tree on a winding road. I hung my right foot in the air, my knee was still bent up, and I stared back at him. My heart stopped screaming in my throat and I sighed. The bird looked around fearfully, wriggled his way back up and flew off.

Sometimes we pull the trigger with gusto, before we know the whole story. Does that make us evil in our acts? Would I have ever known I committed cold blooded murder had he never opened his eyes? I guess I’ll never know.