The Blood-Sucking Cheegle

I’m being nibbled to death by a cheegle. At the moment there are 24 wounds on my wrists, fingers and forearms the tiny beast has inflicted. Blood oozes from four of them, but the remainder have clotted and are dressed in crusty sports coats. Although the wounds are not deep, when the cheegle’s sharp, little teeth sink into my flesh corpuscular fluid flows in copious amounts. I am slowly being bled to death.
The cheegle, who goes by the name of Lily, masquerades as a small, adorable puppy, is, in fact, a voracious vampire who attacks without provocation when I am trying to rest. As soon I stretch out on the bed for an afternoon nap and close my eyes, sweet Lily bounds up the steps next to the bed and jumps on my head. She then proceeds to attack my fingers. I curl my digits into my palms, and she digs for them for a while, finally giving up and attacking my wrists.
“No,” I yell, but it falls on deaf ears, well, on floppy, non-English-speaking ears. I push her away, but to her, it is only a gauntlet thrown down to challenge her persistence. She is relentless; I am defenseless. I play dead, and she finally retreats from her attack on my person and concentrates on making a small hole she has made in the blanket larger. With bloody hands, I fall into a cautious sleep, wondering if I will exsanguinate during my afternoon nap. In my dreams, I see the young, blond surfer dude I once was. When I wake, I see the chew toy I am now.