health, shameful confession, kinstuff, silly
I'm a terrible excuse for a raccoon.
You see, except for chronic and systemic ones, I'm really terrible at keeping my pet diseases. They just keep dying on me. I've basically got what my people call a "red-crossed thumb."
But one of these days, one of my microscopic friends will finally stick around with me to the end, and I will join my siblings in the Great Rubbish Bin In The Sky.
Haha, no, just kidding. Nobody would bother making an afterlife for crazy opportunists like us, and if they did, we wouldn't take orders well enough to qualify. We'd probably just steal St. Peter's keys, sneak into all the other afterlives, and steal food from everybody in Canid Heaven.