I tumble from the bowl onto the floor frantically searching for a means of communication. A soup can lies abandoned on the floor with a red string sprouting out from the ground attached firmly to it rear end. Grabbing the soup can I yell Good Morning hoping for a response. You never stir. All I hear in response is the sloshing of condensed tomato liquid making waves. Of course you didn't answer. You wouldn't be caught dead with a tomato phone. You would surely implode.
I wander out into the street like an amoeba on the new frontier. You're standing at my door. I greet you good morning, you hand me a cup of tea. The tea is hidden under a layer of milk that would make any cow proud, the sugar has surely sunk to the bottom now. You never stir.