Unedited scene, I might actually pick this up and write it somewhere sometime.
Fluffy had looked both ways before he had crossed the road. Now, Fluffy, being a cat, did not look both ways the same cautionary way a human does, but looked in a wary feline way that only made sure there was nothing in his immediate path to impede his trek across the street. And due to the fact that the cat did not notice the car moving down the street, as it was relatively far away at the time of looking, he did not know his life would be ended soon.
The man driving the car, however, had seen Fluffy long before he had even stepped into the street. The man did not overtly plan to kill Fluffy, but he also did not exactly plan to stop or swerve so as to miss him. This particular man had once had a bad experience with a cat, long ago, which had given him a sort of fear of the feline creatures. Killing Fluffy, to the man driving, was almost an act of martyrdom (if you think of Fluffy as the martyr, of course). The man driving the car fancied himself as God, in the scenario, and Fluffy was Christ; to be killed as a sacrifice to save all the sins of other cats. And in the end, maybe it would actually help with the man’s hatred of cats.
The first one on the scene of Fluffy’s demise was none other than his neighbor dog, an old but still vital golden retriever. Sadly, the dog did not bark, or alert humans to the cat’s death in any other way. In fact he trotted over to the corpse after hearing Fluffy’s death rattle and upon investigation (thorough smelling, mostly) he decided he had no power to save the cat, and so left.
Others would come along to find the dead cat later, of course.
Now the man who had ran over Fluffy probably wouldn’t have had he known that a not insignificant amount of Fluffy’s internal gore would stick to the bottom of his tire, creating a grotesque dashed-line all the way to his (the man’s) garage.
Later this line would be followed by investigators of the cat’s death.
On the north side of the street, the hermit-like, severely agoraphobic old lady Jensen would witness the gruesome death of poor dear Fluffy and, despite her moral convictions, refuse to make contact with the outside world for the first time in thirty five years.
Fluffy’s corpse was now mostly unidentifiable, so when the boys who rode by on their bikes did not raise any sort of alarm to the Terrance family, it wasn’t due to a lack of compassion for neighborhood pet deaths. In fact, the boy who rode his bike in the middle of the group of three had just recently buried a pet hamster who had lived in his room in a small cage. The hamster, whose name was Harry, had frequently climbed his cage, and upon reaching the top would let go and drop suicidally to the bottom. Now, considering the bottom was coated by a layer of soft wood shavings, he did not actually die because of this, it was merely one of his many beloved quirks. The hamster was found dead after having chewed off both of his forepaws for no apparent reason.