I pedaled breathlessly up the steep Fremont hill in the dark and din of rush hour. Before I could think or react, a scruffy Siamese cat dashed in front of my wheel at full speed. I turned my head in shock, taking a beat to register what was going on. It ran across the lane next to me. It crossed the center line. I saw the oncoming jeep. The jeep wasn't speeding, but going too fast for breaking to make any difference. I watched the cat bolt toward inevitable collision with the jeep's tire. I'm guessing the jeep saw the cat, but it was one of those moments where nothing could be done. An involuntary gasp pushed its way out of my lungs at full volume. Time stood still. In that moment that lasted forever, I had time to consider, "I am going to watch a cat get smashed. This is terrible, but I can't look away. I can't look away. What was that noise? Oh my god I just screamed a little, wait what's that other noise?" At that moment, the cat stopped still in its tracks, likely with whiskers brushing rubber, paused for a split second, then bolted in reverse back towards me. I will never know if I actually heard it's little claws scraping against the pavement, or if that other noise was just the grating guttural scrape of my own fevered gasps.