Most importantly, Mr. Doo received his serving of turkey! Indeed, I fixed him up a plate. He had needs. It is my duty to meet those needs. He can kill me as I sleep if I fail to meet those needs.
I have learned to cook with Mr. Doo always laying on the floor in the kitchen. As soon as I start any culinary endeavor, he'll come rub against me, then flop and lay in the center of the very small floor space. He often gets stepped on.
But he always gets his turkey.