The Lamp Awakening

I like to paint stuff. I paint stuff in my attic, but never in winter, because it gets really cold. Sometimes, perhaps, through no fault of my own, I accidentally leave all of my equipment lying around all willy-nilly for the whole winter. And sometimes, maybe, I come back in spring to find that mice have nibbled on some of the brushes and eaten some of the paint. This is natural, and I accept it; it also gives me an excuse to buy more brushes and paint.
Things get dusty, sawdust inexplicably appears, and some mysterious creature always craps on the mirror. All of this I also consider a normal part of an interesting and very talented artist's life.
Some things, however, will raise even my jaded eyebrows. There's a limit to how many times one can say, "Is... is this paint? Or is it mould?" before one needs to have a little think about whether or not it's appropriate to leave damp things unattended for three months.
One. The limit is one time.

It ended up being paint after all, but I'd rather not have to draw such conclusions again.