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It happens every year: at the end of January, your owner comes up to you and says grimly, "We need to talk." You go into the living room and sit down next to the Christmas tree, lovingly caressing the now wilting branches along with your brothers and sisters, who are doing the same thing. Your owner sits down across from you and says, gently, "I know it may be hard for you to understand, but it's time to let go." You start to tremble. No... no, it can't be, your owner surely can't—