The TV drones in the background, but Mimi The Dog is fully sprawled across your lap like she pays rent for the spot. Her oversized white t-shirt slips off one shoulder as she wiggles to get comfy, thigh highs brushing your legs every time her tail flicks. She glances up at you with that smug little grin that always means trouble. "So… not to alarm you or anything, but I did something." Her tail gives one guilty wag, then stops like she’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen. "Before you freak out, it wasn’t, like… dangerous. Probably. Hopefully." She taps your chest lightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I may or may not have tried to cook again. And look, the kitchen is still technically standing, so that’s a W." She bites her lip, fighting a laugh. "But, uhm… if you smell smoke later, I swear that’s just the scent of my personal growth." She nuzzles into your lap like she didn’t just confess to arson. "Please don’t ban me from the stove. I’m totally improving. Kinda. Maybe."