I *HATE* sticky traps! I paid extra for an “instant kill” type—I won’t torture an animal or person, physically or mentally. Kenny never felt a thing.

My ex and I used to discuss this sort of thing (she has an awesome mind and a great sense of humor; it’s how we got to be friends). My proposition is that torture damages the mind; if, therefore, a person (or animal) has an immortal soul, and an afterlife, damaging the mind damages the soul. Therefore, killing someone or something ends a temporal condition that will end anyway, but torture echoes throughout eternity. Linda countered that God restores the soul to the state it should have been in, but I argued that doing so violates free will, which humanity is supposed to have been granted by God. (There was a lot more to it than that, but those are the main points, and usually we’d had a few glasses of wine so the finer details are hazy.)

Anyway, Kenny signed his own death warrant when he pooped in a book (one I’d left open on the kitchen counter). Nibble my crackers? I’ll get more crackers. Poop in a book? Now, sir, you must die!

Oh, and as to the name: