I have no idea what this is

She couldn’t have predicted the toaster oven would make that noise when hitting her boyfriend’s head. It was sort of a metal meets bone explosion with resonance of profanity in the debris. Three years ago, she wouldn’t have been able to foresee herself as the type of girl who threw kitchen appliances at unsuspecting telephone operators, especially ones she’d only known for three weeks, but he’d gone and left the garden door open again, and there was just no excuse for that anymore.

Ever since she’d let him live there, she’d been getting strange animals in the garden. Not just the rabbits that screwed with the tomato plants, but small badgers and mink as well. She’d almost lost a nose when sticking her nose into what she had thought had been a mole hole. This morning, when she saw what looked like a miniature peacock relieving itself on her patio, she grabbed the first shiny metal object within reach.

Her boyfriend had landed on the floor and now lay under the table, cuss words escaping his mouth despite the fact that every other part of his body indicated he was knocked out.

“What do peacocks eat?” she asked. “If it’s marigolds and bluebells, you’re dead, mister.” She grabbed a nearby egg beater and shook it at him.

He rubbed his head and sat up, partially ducking under the table. “Kiwi,” he said.

She lowered her egg beater. “Peacocks can’t eat kiwi. How do they peel it?”

“What?” He crawled out from under the table and picked up the toaster oven. “The bird. The bird is a kiwi. I think I need to go to the hospital.”

“What the hell are we gonna do with a kiwi?”

His muscles tensed and he chucked the toaster oven across the room at her.

She screamed and jumped to the side as the appliance crashed at her feet. She kicked it and stubbed her toe, but wouldn’t admit to it. “Get out of my house and take your bird with you.”

“Not my bird.” He snatched the box of cereal – her cereal – from the kitchen table and stormed out of the room.

She looked down at the dented toaster oven and picked it up, examining it. “Completely unusable,” she concluded, setting it on the counter. She sighed and looked back to the patio door where a kiwi was looking in through the window like a hungry stray kitten.

Her heals clicked on the crappy tile floor as she went to open the patio door. She slid it across the track and the kiwi looked up at her expectantly. “Well?” she asked it. “Come in, then.”