Last night, while I was on the train trip from Hell, my cat found a young rabbit. My wife was home and managed to prevent the half-feral asshole from killing it in the house and put it in a quiet spot in the yard; hoping for the best.
This morning it was still breathbg.
She had to leave early but asked me to handle it. I tried giving it some water with a straw, and I didn’t see any obvious injury, but he laid there breathing hard.
So I put on my welding gloves and got a plastic grocery bag. I gently picked it up and cradled it in the bag until it stopped moving.
I am a monster. Hate me.
When I was 16 I killed a bird, a nestling really. I googled how to give it food - I needed to mill some seeds with water into a paste and administer with a syringe. The syringe slipped and the paste went into its throat. It choked to death in my hands. Ever since once a year this episode gives me nightmares. In these nightmares I am a little chick who is choking.
You’re not a monster. You painlessly killed an animal that would’ve died of pain.
But you were trying to do something good. I don’t think you deserve those nightmares
I’m a bad person in general, so the question whether I deserve them or not is not correct. I deserve.