I periodically think about that autistic man whose coworkers cut the heads off his stuffed animals, and about how they probably don’t understand even half the import of what they did. It’s not just destroying a favorite toy - the bond between an autist and their stuffed animals is something else entirely.
If somebody hurt my caterpillars, I don’t even think I’d be able to speak. Just shriek with rage.
It strikes me, in relation to your previous post about how you were one biological accident away from being a neckbeard, that being so attached to stuffed animals would be extremely low status in a man.