Smashed cat in a trash can.
The dumpster smells strongly of food.
All it would want would be sustenance.
Any animal would be ill prepared for my slung bag (a weighty one).
The only villain would be the difference in understanding of purpose between man and beast.
The death would go unnoticed if no sound were uttered by the feline victim.
You would never know if you had done it.
I will never know if this has ever happened.
Yet, the hypothetical guilt staggers my theoretical soul by means of my overactive imagination.
This is the curse born by dreamers.