Unhappy cows

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What is it you want from me? I was suppered, showered, brushered of teethered and a-ready for bed. I had almost everything in blue, including my memories, and I had a candle on in a lonely corner.

You'll be having this, said the old woman. She was bending over a pile of twigs, twisting them together to make tight bunches, ready for fires and torches.

What will I be having? I asked her.

This! And she swung up suddenly with a copper pan and bashed me over the head. I lost conciousness and came to perhaps hours later on a bed of cushions.

The room was empty, the fire on. I took three coals from the fire pit and laid them beneath the curtains and tapestries. The flames licked up quickly and soon the whole hovel was an inferno. The door burst open and the old woman stood there with a hose. She doused the fire and then closed the door. I was left alone. There was a hole in the ceiling. Then there was no hole; a giant saucepan lid was placed on top of the house and a deep voice said 'you shouldn't have done that. Now we have to make you suffer.'

I fell asleep.

I woke up and there were many cows in the room, and they didn't sound happy.