Have you ever murdered at the mere age of 11? I have. Growing up, I never possessed any pets, but was still an animal enthusiast at heart. When my fifth-grade class acquired a dwarf hamster called Scooter, I was enlightened with unlimited rapture. During a classroom, Christmas party, I decided to keep little Scooter company. As I was munching on skittles, being the congenial kid I was, I offered the little guy a cherry red one. All was well until the next day my teacher announced devastating news. Scooter had died. The autopsy was that he had some sort of complications from digesting, for there was a single skittle found in his feces. My classmates were outraged and bawled torments directed at the anonymous hamster slaughterer. I was torn inside,
