A worrying trend

As my more regular readership are aware - I have taken in a lodger. She is a delightful little ray of sunshine - and like a butterfly - needs no excuses.
Up until very recently chez-chap has been a bit of a building site. No sooner had I resolved the issues with that, when she - a damsel in distress and a chum - required lodgings for her and the dog (you've seen what he looks like).

Now, I am a laid back sort of cove. I am slow to ire and I bear the hardships of life with a stoical grimace of a norm. But having someone else in one's abode does place restrictions - and one has to accommodate people in the name of harmony. However up with some things I will not put.

I don't mind a dog the size of a car slobbering everywhere and whining at my door at 2 am.

I don't mind all the kitchen utensils being rearranged to allow her things into the drawers.

I don't mind the cupboards filling not with the scented goods of Araby or the Levante - but instant mash and the like.

I don't mind someone moving in then going to Ibiza straight afterwards leaving their things everywhere.

I don't mind not being able to pad about the place in my glory.

I don't mind having to make arrangements for privacy should my caddish ways extend to inviting Lady Visitors (fat chance) over to inspect the finer points of my record collection and swap tasting notes on the latest batch of ready Burgundy (Really my dear, is that the time? And I cannot drive -I insist you stay....)

I don't mind the stark clean modernist lines of my bathroom vanishing under a deluge of bottles unguents, potions and sanitary hardware.

I even can live with the prospect of the rails and radiators festooning themselves with ladies underthings. (Feel free to insert your own perversion here)

What I do mind is this.
Spotted - with the large double pallet worth of unstowed dunnage living in my lounge space between sitting area and record wall - a Karaoke Machine.

Would it be cruel to take the fuse out, thereby rendering it mysteriously inoperable, yet undamaged with conscience clear?

Her good, my amusement. Or rather, sanity.