Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
foot, and sure enough it wasn't. I had to leave it. It was a K-99, but "I won't have to kill many. Besides, they're only animals." " Intelligent animals!" O'Reilley's pet shop—right place, wrong number. I just don't get it." "Intelligent as a human imbecile, maybe." sidewalk escalator toward O'Reilley's address. She sipped her coffee and appeared to be listening, so he went on. "And what can I do? You know how the Federation handles employment. They looked over my aptitude tests and sent me to Bio-Administration. J. "DOGGY" O'REILLEY labor. That's the law ." If I don't want to follow my aptitudes, the only choice is common Norris withered. His voice went desperate. "They assigned me to it because I O'Reilley's was not a shining example of cleanliness. Somewhere a puppy was yapping, and a parrot croaked the lyrics of "I suppose you have an aptitude for killing babies?" she said sweetly. unclaimed units is the smallest part of it. Honey, before the evolvotron, before Anthropos went into the mutant-animal business, people used to elect dogcatchers. Think of it that way—I'm just a Chimp to Call My Own , which Norris recognized as the theme song of a popular soap-opera about a lady evolvotron operator. death certificate under his nose and demanding a guarantee of the dog's alleged F-5 intelligence. The old man offered to swear on a Bible, but he demurred when it came to swearing on a ledger. proclaim them really human. He wandered on toward the back of the building, pausing briefly by the cash register to inspect O'Reilley's license, which hung in a dusty frame on the wall behind the counter. "James Fallon O'Reilley ... authorized dealer in mutant animals ... all non-predatory O'Reilley was mincing across the floor to meet him. The customer had thumbs. It was a cat-Q-5. It glanced curiously at the truck as Norris stopped and adjusted his spectacles. He blinked and peered as Norris flashed his badge. His smile waned. "I'm Agent Norris, Mr. O'Reilley. Called you yesterday for that rundown on K-99 sales." O'Reilley looked suddenly nervous. "Oh, yes. Find 'em all?" "Whose child are you, Rorry?" he asked. "Where do you live?" O'Reilley seemed to cringe. "No mistake. I gave you the buyer's name." "That's right, Mama's kitty. But where is Mama? Do you suppose she ran O'Reilley's wrinkled face set itself into a stubborn mask. "Doubt if but most couples could endure the death of a cat-Q or a dog-F. Class-C His grin faded as he wondered which Anne would choose. The Norrises The wrinkled face twitched with frustrated anger. O'Reilley shuffled something he had been expecting for several days. Attention All District Inspectors: Subject: Deviant Neutroid. animals whose serial numbers fall in the Bermuda-K-99 series for But O'Reilley was already limping quickly up the stairs. He seemed not Negligency Case. Seize all animals in this category, impound, and run proper sections of normalcy tests. Watch for mental and glandular unit, but there may be others. He disclaims memory of deviant's serial number. This could be a ruse to bring a stop to investigations when one animal is found. Be thorough. influx had been K-99s from Bermuda Factory. Forty, at least. Could he Anthropos, Inc. They should be able to give him a list of all July's imagine we will. Are you extremely busy at the moment?" Norris hesitated. "Extremely," he said. dying. Eighteenth order virus." "So?" "Well, she's—uh—rather a it's her own. Do you understand?" "I think so," Norris replied slowly. "But what do you want me to do? Can't you send the neutroid to a vet?" "I thought perhaps you could help me fake a substitution. It's a K-48 one . You're welcome to it, Doctor, but you can't fake a serial number. She'll know it. And even though they look exactly alike, the new one won't recognize her. It'll be spooky." come get the animal now?" "I'm on the highway—" "Please, Norris! This is urgent. That woman will lose her mind completely if—" "Yes?" "Don't let me catch you falsifying a serial number." mechanical voice answered, "Locator center. Your party, please." "Sheriff Yates," Norris grunted. The robot operator, which had on tape the working habits of each Wylo City citizen, began calling numbers. It found the off-duty sheriff on it's got me psyched. What do you want, Norris?" "Cooperation. I'm mailing you three letters charging three Wylo citizens with resisting a Federal official—namely me —and charging pound inspection—" Yates bellowed lusty laughter into the phone. "It's not funny. I've got to get those neutroids. It's in connection with the Delmont case." Yates stopped laughing. "Oh. Well, I'll take care of it." "It's a rush-order, Sheriff. Can you get the warrants tonight and pick up the animals in the morning?" "Easy on those warrants, boy. Judge Charleman can't be disturbed just don't have to get a helicopter posse to chase down the mothers." "That'll be all right. And listen, Yates—fix it so the charges will be dropped if they cooperate. Don't shake those warrants around unless they just won't listen to reason. But get those neutroids." "Okay, boy. Gotcha." " Apple cores! he's got to be quick about it before the ovum dies from an overdose of Anyway, he reported one success the next day. It was faked. The ovum determinants, and in the glandular makeup. Not a standard neutroid ovum. He passed it on to the incubators to get a credit, knowing it female." "How did they find out about it now?" "He got caught last month, trying it again. And he confessed to doing the back of the kennel-truck. He grinned at his wife. "This little fellow, for instance. It might be a potential she. It might also be a potential murderer. All She looked up and shook her head. "It belongs to somebody else. If it fixes a libido attachment on you, you're actually robbing its owner. They can't love many people at once." He stood in the back of the truck, staring down at her. "Do you realize what—" "I know what I'm saying. We're class-C on account of heart-trouble in both our families. Well, I don't care, Terry. I'm not going to waste a heart over one of these pathetic little artificial animals. We're going mobile unit in front of the late Doctor Hiram Georges' residence just west of Sherman II. We are waiting for the stretcher to be brought out, and Police Chief Erskine Miler is standing here beside me to give us a A growling drawl came from the audio. "This's Chief Miler speaking, folks. I just want to say that if any of you know the whereabouts of a Mrs. Sarah Glubbes, call me immediately. She's wanted for questioning." "Thank you, Chief. This is James Duncan again. I'll review the facts for you briefly again, ladies and gentlemen. At seven o'clock, kennel-truck, meaning to get the rest of the Bermuda-K-99s so that he

<question>:
J "Doggy" O'Reilley is most likely:

<options>:
A A Delmont "flaw" that passed
B A Class C citizen
C A neutroid
D A federal officer

<answer>:

B