Kipper stared into his porridge with a mounting sense of dread.

First order of business: the breakfast was getting cold. Staring into it with a mounting sense of dread had led the heat to escape. He silently set the bowl in the microwave and watched it spin.

Second order of business: the growth on the corner of the ceiling. It was green. And dripping. He knew that stain would be a bitch to get out of the carpet.

He took a silent spoonful of the oatmeal and carefully eyed the pulsating mass. It eyed him back.

A small strip of... whatever peeled off of the blob and waggled a little, as if bidding him hello, and then it slipped back into the mass. It throbbed a bit.

Kipper set down his oatmeal. He'd lost his appetite.

His morning routine commenced in silence. He tried to avoid looking at it when he had to be in the same room. It had claimed part of the ceiling by the time he was finished.

He elected to ignore that and left for work.