Rover is getting old.

She's 12.  (Actually, she's now 12.25.  I suppose that in the twilight of life, those fractions of a year start to matter again, much as they did when we were children.)

She sleeps through so much now.  And she's underfoot even more than before; she doesn't hear when warned to get out of the way, and then gets stepped on, or she forgets that 15 seconds ago she was exiled from the kitchen. 

And she doesn't have the bladder control she once had, meaning that the loveseat she used to sleep on had to be disposed of, despite my having owned it for 19 years.

Still, she's cute, she's enjoying her dotage, and she's just as snuggleable as ever.  I fear that the next few years of pet ownership are going to be tough.