Unidentified NASTY Object

You know what I hate? Unidentified Objects of the Kitchen. It's disgusting to find something about whose origins you are clueless -- and to find it on the place where you prepare your family's food is downright gaggy.

Unidentified Objects of the Kitchen are inferior only to Unidentified Objects of the Bathroom, and their slightly more sinister cousins, Unidentified Objects of the Private Parts (which usually involve tweezers and/or penicillin).

Here is a picture of the Unidentified Object of the Kitchen (UKO) that I found when cleaning under my knife block the other day.

I know, huh? Totally McNasty. When I first discovered it hiding under that knife block, I kind of jumped back a bit and gasped. Then I was like: silly me; I thought that was something disgusting but it's really just a French Burnt Peanut. And I looooooove French Burnt Peanuts. They remind me of my childhood. Mmm. Haven't had one in a good 10 years. Wait a cotton-pickin' minute! I've only owned this house for FIVE years. That can't be a French Burnt Peanut! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Have you ever noticed that when you find something "foreign," you employ your senses in this order: SEE it, TOUCH it, SMELL it, TASTE it, DIE. Well, in this case, I chose only to SEE it from a comfortable distance. I can't get bochilism; I'm a mother for god's sakes.

Based on my visual inspection of the UKO, here are a few ideas as to its identity:

-- A Petrified Gizzard from when my mom carved a turkey at my house 2 Thanksgivings ago. (And you wonder why I'm a vegetarian?) This is my most solid theory, because when something "petrifies," it turns red. Seriously. Have you ever visited the Petrified Forest?

-- My cat's gall bladder. About 3 days prior to finding this anomoly, I winced with sympathy as my cat took on a Linda Blair persona while trying to dislodge what I thought to be a hairball. Now I'm thinking it was more likely an internal organ. Perhaps the one found on my counter.

-- A red m&m, shipped from Chernobyl.

-- A bloody fingertip that my husband, the police officer, forgot to leave at the impound yard and needed to find a safe haven for.

-- Rudolph's nose. (Sad, but our dogs do get pretty feisty when someone enters our family territory. Santa and his obnoxious clan is no exception.)

-- "Big Toe" toenail of the devil.

Perhaps it is none of these. I may never know. Are there any crime scene investigators out there who could offer some insight?