I killed a cat.
In my defense it was dark, not even a hint of pre-dawn light, and the incident occurred on a curve. At the moment my headlights cut through the dark, my tunnel of viewable road revealed a sweet gray cat trotting down the center line. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel and I prayed she would turn the other way. No such luck. Just as I was about to pass her with each of us walking away, she veered into my wheel.
A solid hit. Then the remorse set in, which was compounded later that day when I took the same route home and saw the flattened pancake that used to be Fluffy.
Which made me think...I have killed numerous characters in my book. Granted the vast majority are nameless soldiers in black, as easy to shrug off as popping a Unggoy full of lead. But there are a few close friends, family, and loved ones who meet their bloody end page after page. Well...not every page, but enough to notice (and hopefully make you weep like a baby).
So, stranger gray kitty turned road kill made me sad all day. Offing characters I breathed life into and imagined down to minute detail, meh.
*insert evil laugh*