The story stopped being about me the moment I died. Which is ludicrous when one considers there would be no story without me. I thought he was joking at first, a bit of rough and tumble fun, meaty paws wrapping my slender neck and squeezing light, making my head swim a bit. I didn’t think to stop him, to cry out, not that there was much space for it. I didn’t think he would do me like that until it…
