Apocalypse 7am

The checkout man in the DVD rental store frowned at the woman stood at the till. He picked up the DVD cover that she'd selected, and pursed his lips.
"This isn't a very suitable film for young children," he said. "I don't mean to pry into your life, but store policy is to remind customers with small children-"
"I'm not babysitting my child with your film," said Mummy briskly. "I'll be watching it after she's gone to bed. But that said, if I want to introduce my child to masterworks of film, or to explain to her what war is really all about, what concern of that is yours?"
The man looked a little taken aback. "This is really quite a violent film, and for a small child-"
"I said IF, and my question was actually about your right to stick your nose in where it's not wanted." Mummy's voice was growing icy, and Toddler, near her ankles, started giggling.
"I did a degree in social work," said the man in a much quieter voice. "That'll be three pounds, please."
Mummy paid, and the checkout man found the right disc and slipped it into the cover. He didn't dare say goodbye.
"Silly man," said Mummy on the way out, ostensibly to Toddler, but just loud enough to be overheard. "He's not wanted for his opinions."
Mummy had a few other shopping errands to run, and by the time they got home it was just after 9pm, so Mummy slipped the DVD into the player, left Toddler on the couch in front of the television, and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. The budgerigar, a school pet that Toddler had been tasked with looking after for the week, squawked from its cage on the counter when she came in. Mummy glared at it until it put its head under its wing, and unpacked the shopping, putting things into cupboards and the fridge. Deciding that after all that she didn't much feel like cooking, she called for pizza.
Back in the living room, she found that Toddler had already started the film playing and was sat attentively in front of it. She smiled, she'd always found the start of the film boring, and sat on the couch. Toddler could watch until the pizza arrived, then she'd turn it off.
When she woke up again, it was 4am and Toddler was curled up next to her asleep and the film was playing through again, somewhere near the end. She yawned, stretched, and took them both off to bed.
In the morning she discovered the pizza on the front step, with an apologetic note saying that pizza delivery boy had rung eight times to try and get her to take the pizza. She checked her phone -- yes, he'd rung there three times too. And the note looked like he'd written it in his own blood, so she'd accept it was her fault. She picked it up, and went back into the kitchen.
There was the fragrant smell of olive oil in the air, so she looked around, just in time to see a bedraggled-lookie budgie flinching away from a lit match. The oil caught and the budgie disappearing in a column of fire and a single, despairing squawk.
"I love the smell of napalm in the morning!" giggled Toddler, waving the match excitedly.
"Oh good," said Mummy, catching it and blowing it out. "No more pets for you, little man."