How do you know when something is complete? The final brushstroke made? The concluding words tapped out? The last stone lowered? The closing like appended to a tweet? Daisy tells me that you would stretch out your nose and become so flat that those around you will find it quite surprising and your legs will be straight and your tail will be curled and you will not even stir when someone opens a cupboard in the kitchen. Would you not be tempted, I enquire, to add a few words, another instalment, a final episode, or perhaps commission a prequel? But Daisy’s snores are deep and heavy. No, no, it seems she would not.