Isolationism

When the ketchup picked a fight with the salsa in the fridge, I decided not to get involved, you know, let them figure things out. Later that night, though, when I found a coagulating stream of red fluid edging slowly across the kitchen floor I decided to look around. To my surprise, I found the salsa and the ketchup sitting together placidly. The Chinchillas, however, were running laps in the vegetable crisper making all sorts of racket, and that hypochondriac Chinchilla lay on the bottom of the fridge with a toothpick through its heart.

So I closed the door.