The blue ball with no mouth

Previously

…"Well," I said, my voice shaky but triumphant. "That was… something." The toaster vibrated. "The… the fig jam," it rasped. "Is it… still available?" I let out a shaky laugh. "Yes, Toasty. The fig jam is still available. And I think," I added, glancing at my now-inert broom, "we can all agree that a cease-fire is in order. For now, at least." The Bossy Spatula, from its perch, gave a single, decisive flick of its handle. It sounded remarkably like a grudging acceptance. And somewhere in the living room, I could have sworn I heard the faint, settling groan of an armchair that was finally, blessedly, just an armchair again.