Lola killed a three-legged mouse in the backyard by puncturing its throat with her teeth. She brought it inside through the broken screen door and batted its corpse around the kitchen playfully, spilling it's blood everywhere.
[Warning: Graphic image behind the jump.]
If my life were a novel, readers would wonder about the meaning behind the motif of three, but I'm not sure there would be anything there to uncover.
To end on a less morbid note, last Sunday, my three-year-old neighbor and I were chatting as we watched 45,000 or so marathoners run by the apartment. My neighbor had a number of questions, but one very pressing one: When was pregnant Lola going to have her babies?
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