"Ivy, how long do you think we'll be made move around like this?" Holly asked sleepily, looking under her bed for her pillow. Due to the fact that she had a secret stash of rock albums beneath it, it was tough.
"Oh, yeeesh, I dunno. Couple more years, until we're eighteen, I guess. And then we'll get jobs and a flat..."
"And in my case, twenty flipping cats or so."