That's why we call him the Yarn Bandit.

One of The Man's many very important responsibilities at the Department of Bureaus is to serve as Professor of Bureaucracy at Pork Barrel University. (There used to be a small School of Legal Learning for Lawyers here in Our Nation's Capital where all the lawyers are, but Senator So-and-So decided it would be much more convenient to move the SLLL outside the beltway to His Home State, where there is no major airport. That way, all the lawyers could get on teeny tiny propeller jets and travel hours and hours away to go to school, instead of taking the tin can through the tunnel for 15 minutes. If you build it (while simultaneously dismantling the old one), they will have no choice but to come, no matter how much it costs. That's just my opinion, of course.)

This week, Professor The Man is teaching at PBU. The Man performs many functions here Chez Nous, the most important of which are coffee production, removal of dead creatures left around the yard by the neighborhood cats, and evening YB management. I also let him kill bugs. I don't care about spiders and crickets around the house, but it lets him feel manly, so squish.

Um, coffee. He makes good, strong coffee. He grinds the beans and puts water in the machine and in the morning I stumble out to the kitchen half naked to slap the machine around the base until I find the big button and the red light goes on. This is how it works every morning except the four mornings a year when I have to go to the vampire before I can drink coffee and the mornings when he's at PBU.

YB is a friendly little monkey who wants a lot of attention. After a long day at home taking naps, he especially craves human attention. In the evenings, we all retire to the couch. GK sits next to me because all he wants is to be near me and really that's not too much to ask is it? YB sits next to The Man, and pokes him and claws at him with The Paw Of Demand to make sure that The Man strokes him. The stroking must continue, or The Paw of Demand comes out to poke and prod for more. When The Man is gone, the Boys compete for the prime spot next to Dirtbunny. If YB wins, then Bunny has to diddle his ears or tickle his belly or risk the wrath of The Paw of Demand. If GK wins, Bunny has to pay attention to make sure YB doesn't wander off to the sunroom to engage in some retaliatory urination.

Well, dammit, I have a life too (sort of) and last night I went out. So sue me. I did what I did. GK probably slunk (slank? slinked?) off to his dog bed, where he sulked for about 90 seconds and then fell asleep. YB probably ended up having more fun than the rest of us, as I would eventually discover. I came home from my Big Night Out (not), had a cancer stick, took the Boys into the yard to void, and then we all went to bed. I did not inspect the house.

This morning, I got up, staggered out to the kitchen, saw that THERE WAS NO COFFEE BECAUSE THE MAN IS GONE, went past the dining room table and the treadmill to turn on the laptop, came back through, and went back to my room to put on my glasses because I have to make the fucking coffee myself goddamn it.

So I make the coffee. I walk out to the sunroom to see if the laptop is finished booting up or whatever the fuck it does. It's still dark and it's before 7:00, and I'm no techie, so give me a break. (I'm also cranky in the morning). Goddamn The Man, going off to Pork Barrel University. Have to make my own coffee. I stumble around from room to room, muttering, waiting for enough coffee to brew so I can actually drink some.

At last sweet brown elixir of life. Slip me a slug from the wonderful mug and I'll cut a rug just snug in a jug. A sliced up onion and a raw one. Draw one. Waiter, waiter, percolator, I love coffee, I love t----

Hello. Who are you?

Last time I saw you, you were in the green knitting bag over th----

HEY! That's not right!

What happened to the----HEY!

[This is the treadmill, sometime exercise device and storage facility for YB's beagley trophies. GK doesn't keep trophies.]

What the hell did you do to my sock, you hoser?

[Here you can see Piggy and Squirrel, which belong to GK, and the orange thing, which belongs to YB]

I'VE BEEN KNITTING THAT GODDAMNED SOCK AS A SURPRISE FOR MY MOTHER, YOU MONKEY! YOU BETTER NOT HAVE MESSED IT UP OR SO HELP ME I'M RETURNING YOU TO THE RESCUE ORGANIZATION IF YOU'RE LUCKY!

Let's see here. Ziploc bag: shredded. Yarn: apparently intact.

Sock: Unmolested. He could have chewed the Nylabone, but no, he had to have the sock. Looks like he didn't eat any yarn this time. Sock is OK. Whew. Hoser.

I get out the camera so I can show The Man what a bad boy YB has been, when who should decide to grace us with his presence? I hear him coming, his little toenails of destruction clicking on the hardwood floor, the unmistakable gait of his waddle clearly identifying him as YB and not GK. He wanders by me, taking no notice of me or the crime scene. He waddles past and climbs into his favorite dog bed (which does not belong to him but to GK).

Not a shred of remorse.

That'll learn me from going out without him.