Hitler on my kitchen counter

Can you identify the golden-brown object in the center of this photograph?
Read on for the answer.

Because Logos provided us with many dishes and utensils before we moved in, it took us a while to notice it on the kitchen counter. By the time I arrived on July 25, Sarah had been there for several days to get set up, and both of us never thought about it. One day, though, Sarah approached me.

"So I was looking at our neighbors' balcony," she commented, "and they have a tiny wooden house on it."

"Oh, really?"

"It looks kind of like our little house, but it has incense in it. Do you think it could be...?"

Oh, dear, I think she's right. I had just noticed it for the first time that week, because Sarah had started to leave her keys on top of it. Brilliant!, I thought, you'd never lose them that way. I hadn't thought about its intended purpose, though, except maybe as a souvenir. Wow, I felt slow.

"I can't believe I've been leaving my keys on the spirit house!" Sarah groaned. "What must the neighbors have thought, if they noticed it through the glass door? What should we do with it?"

We knew that most Buddhist families had some kind of spirit house inside to honor their ancestors, similar to the shrines we'd seen outside, but we'd never seen a spirit house. We concluded that since Logos wouldn't have bought it for us, it must have been a housewarming gift from our landlords. One which we had obviously failed to properly respect. But did it deserve our respect? Or is it creepy, even dangerous, to have a home for whatever spirits drop by, sitting right on your kitchen counter?

We concluded that it was time to get rid of it. But how? A spirit house isn't something you just regift. No, throwing it out was the best option. We prayed nobody would find it in the trash and feel offended. Picking it up, we noticed a large, disgusting bug clinging to it. "Hey, doesn't Buddhism teach that evil people reincarnate as bugs?" We decided that, if Buddhism is true, we must have Hitler's spirit clinging to that cute little house. No, thank you!

Tossing it in the trash, we heard the house crunch as we closed the lid. Good riddance!