F is also for Fridge

Inside my head there is a fridge. Inside the fridge are four shelves. On the top shelf there is nothing. On the second shelf down, in the centre, a mobile phone lies listlessly on its side, its front and back bending away from one another like the half peeled skin of an unripe banana. On the third shelf, there are two things: an unglazed Earthenware bowl filled with assorted potpourri cuttings, and a blank DVD. On the bottom shelf there is a very strange thing. Curled up, right in the corner at the back on the left hand side, partially covered by a tissue-like membrane, a very small hairless dog. Upon close scrutiny its stomach seems to be rising and falling, or it could just be my imagination.