we didn't burn him

We were nearly killed in our beds last night, and (as far as I can tell) it wasn’t the cats’ fault. Though they are both subtle and very, very evil, so I’m not sure.

We’re in the habit of burning a nightlight every, for want of a better word, night in a fairly open-plan brass oil burner. With essential oils in it; you know the sort of thing. Last night, I set the thing going with some marjoram, and after reading for a bit and drinking our tea, we subsided into unconsciousness.

I was just drifting off when I heard a »»WHUMP!«« that I nearly ignored. I lifted a bleary eye, however, and saw that the top of the Ikeal box thang on my chest of drawers was ablaze in a being ablaze sort of fashion, threatening the collection of plush MOOSE!!! that live up there with immolation. Amazingly, the fire actually went out when I blew it, but only just in time as the plastic lighter by the burner was already perilously hot.

I can only guess that the lighter was gently exuding propane, or butane, or cat farts, or whatever its fuel is; the gas pooling in a cloud invisibule around the candle flame until the fuel/air mixture hit its optimum point. At which point it did what it must.

We decided not to relight the nightlight before crawling back under the duvet.

Indeed do many things come to pass.