On the Stove

When he entered the room, the smell invaded his sinuses. He called out, “Who’s there?” He wasn’t sure who would respond, but he heard nothing. Very quickly, he knew that he wasn’t alone anymore. He knew someone was there, but he couldn’t decipher who. The stove was on, yet no one was tending it. The food wasn’t burning, yet, but someone had to stir the pot. He lifted the lid, and didn’t recognize what was simmering. Is this a stew? Is this to be dinner? He can’t possibly eat anything boiling in thick blood. Who prepared this meal for him?