At best, such a fate might render the toy in question instead as a doll. At worst, well.

[He continues to grin, and to purr, and to be all that he ought to be.]

The ovens do ever beg for fuel. But I wouldn't worry about that.

You might, but I wouldn't.

After all, if you ask me-- and you didn't, but if you did, I might be tempted to remark that this seems precisely the sort of venue that might no doubt well suit your particular brand of mental dishevelment. Why, those in charge might even be convinced to generously perpetuate it.