Met by Saint Jon The Archangel in the writhing pits of hell, the beast was pinned, prone on the floor. He had taken many forms throughout the ages. From the creator of man to the far reaches of the universe, his perpetual reincarnations reigned throughout space and time… until now. His form was weak, the opposition strong. The time for atonement had finally come.
Battered, torn, exposed, the beast slacked his gaping maw.
"I'm sorry, Jon" he whispered.
The archangel raised his flaming blade.
"You are forgiven, Garfield"
And the beast exhaled his last.
What hath Mondays wrought