Last night, I was listening to Small Fry rambling on about kids and family and death (weird, I know; but we're trying to prepare the Fries for the inevitable passing of Popoki, our oldest cat).
Small made this pronouncement: "You have fwree kids now. But if I die an' go to heaven, then you'll only have two."
I tickled her foot. "Nope. I'll still have three. Two here with me, and you in heaven."
"But I don't wanna go to heaven yet."
"I don't want you to go yet, either."
About then, Hubby announced a moratorium on dying.
And, of course, then we went on to discuss the Yakuza.
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