She bats the side of his head. Go ahead , little man . . . . T ry to escape . He could no more throw her off than he could lift an automobile. Tikki draws her right paw back along the side of his neck. Sharper than razors, her claws glint in the light. Blood is pouring from everywhere: from Remo's nose and mouth, his neck, the side of his head. He does not have long to live. She can smell approaching death.