I get it. You’ve got some kittens to get rid of. And I give you credit for not just dumping them in a cane field to become road kill or another roving pack of mangy strays. But forcing your daughter—who couldn’t have been more than six—to sit out in the hot sun for hours pleading with passerby while you lounged in the shade smoking cigarettes and gabbing on your cell phone? Borderline child abuse, lady. I suppose I should be glad you’re not going to be in charge of any more lives, since when we drove past the second time your poor kid had managed to unload all but a single cat. Maybe let her keep it, so at least she has one friend in the house.