The tired old fox glanced back long enough to see a volt of vultures swoop downwards, resembling northerly winds rapidly moving south on a meteorological map. It paused to weep a single tear for the fallen comrades it had run with for the last eight months, but it is difficult to argue that they deserved their fates. It is cruel how the stamina of youth is wasted on impetuous fools.
The fox was not long for this world. It was evident in its creaking bones, failing eyesight, flaccid tail, and gentle persistent dementia. Funny story, true, a month ago the fox had the best intercourse ever with a discarded Beanie baby®.
The fox instinctively flinched as it heard clattering beaks smacking and cackling as the vultures feasted greedily. The obnoxious noises were eventually drowned out by the thought process going on in the fox’s feeble mind: hierarchy, the substitution theory, cravings, longevity, fornication, wind speed, priorities, and mice. All this in order to formulate the following epitaph: As one ages beyond its natural lifespan, one should always acknowledge fortune, as well as respect the need for a good cigar. Nothing, and by nothing, I mean nothing else can take the place of a good cigar.
With this, the fox curled up its body to nap and cried itself to sleep.