I just made an appointment with the vet to take Willow in -- time for some vaccinations, to deal with her spay incontinence and generally get a game plan for her next couple of years: the bad disk in her back, her teeth, her collapsed metatarsal. "Willow?" the receptionist asked, "Gosh, we really didn't think she'd be back."
( See, she's really supposed to be dead by now. )
( See, she's really supposed to be dead by now. )