I found Actaeon in my fridge.

"Diana gives to the sprinkled head the horns of the lively stag, she gives length to the neck and sharpens the tips of his ears, she gives feet instead of hands, changes his arms to long legs and covers his body with a spotted hide; fear is added: Autonoe's heroic son flees and marvels at the swiftness in his course" (Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.194-9).

I'm not exactly sure what else to say except that when I opened the freezer this morning, there was Actaeon. He was dismembered, frozen and packed into at least twenty neat little plastic baggies and labeled "Wild Game."