Sun Mote Copse sleep apnea

Hour 7 of being alive. 

Quetzal had eaten far too much for her little body, but that did not stop her from doing it some more when she roused. That was until, of course, an impending sense of doom imposed its ugly features into her good vibes only energy. Live, love, eat, right? She was following that shit to a T, and now, now this malificent presence saw it fit to knock on her door and help itself inside? 

Her stomach hurt. It hurt so bad. Reviewing WebMD's server would surely tell her that she was on deaths doorstep. And it wasn't a peaceful, quiet death. It was full of squalling and screaming. WHY DO THE GOOD DIE YOUNG???? WHY??? BILLY JOEL, YOU SON OF A BITCH! Minute of passing: imminent. Quetzal, we hardly knew ye, but at least you have a cute as hell lookalike that is far superior in every way to keep the party going. Emphasis on the cute as hell, not to toot her own horn...

She thought too soon. Horn, tooted, thanks to her mother who was no amateur to a child needing to, you know, take care eof business. A blessing for Quetzal, but a curse for everyone else until the mess was cleaned up. Satisfied with her act of nuclear warfare, she was quiet... surely bringing to mind 'silent, but deadly'.

whoever can seee da puppers !