Moonmoose

"There's been an indoor yak throwing competition Louis XIV"

For there are footprints on the ceiling.

It hung there for a moment, its antlers entangled in the chandelier drops like dewy twigs, a look of hopeless ontological doubt in its tender eyes. Its hind hooves kicked uncertainly in the living room air. Its broad snout twitched mournfully, and it started to fall. Up! Up! wrenching house and video with it, through ceiling, and, with shattering of slates, roof. The earth dwindled to a slightly bluish melon, the clouds tore past like net curtains in June. Oh, how it fell and fell!

Until its antlers buried themselves, abruptly, in a soft substance like salt, slightly mildewed marble, covered with a thick rind. There it remained, still ostensibly preoccupied with the difference between Being and beings. And that is why, O reader...

There is a moose in the moon. --> Mooo --> Moo --> Moomoo!