Bitch, even in death, you mess with me. For two days, you've been curled up under the bed 99% of the time, nice and neat and compact. Why did you decide at the moment of your terminal event that it was a good idea to get up and go for a walk, only to keel over in full walking position right where my feet would land if something hadn't made me look before I got out of bed? And how the hell am I going to store you in all your full stretched-out glory until I can get you to the crematorium? Well played, Pooquan, one last time.
Rest in peace, Queen of Darkness.