#InTheLandOfDroolAndHoney

I’m sitting in the portal to the vet. I have to do this once a year and it is annoying. My sister Sasha is here to comfort me as I go.

“If I don’t make it back, tell Salem he can have my stash of tuna treats I buried in the front yard.”

“You have tuna treats buried in the yard?”

“No.” A smile breaks across my face.

EARLIER THAT DAY:

I open my eyes slowly. It’s morning and I can smell breakfast being set out. I reach my paw to my forehead which is a little cold and feel a substantial amount of drool spread across my fur. Now, since gravity doesn’t allow for my drool to naturally flow upward, I surmise it is the work of Satan. Ooops, Salem. Lessons will have to be taught.