SOMEONE IN THE CORNER LOOKS VERY GUILTY!

This is very distressing! Nearly every morning, moments after my apartment mate has gone off to work, I wake up to find a small creature rifling my pockets in search of my wallet. A desperate criminal caught red-pawed!
Yesterday it was the sock-sheep, today the one-legged monkey.
At times it has also been the piglet with the little bow.
A six inch tall, cute as topsy, delinquent.


I am a tolerant man. But these rowdy little thieves are trying my patience.
The excuse they proffer -- "I found it!" -- is unacceptable.
It's my leathery thing! Mine!
Miscreants!

Thank heavens they do not smoke. So far they haven't touched the pipe tobacco stockpile, or any of the briars. They are quite unlike teenage humans in that regard.


When I was a teenager, I did not try to find my father's wallet.
I had an after school job, and only needed the extra money I earned for a weekly tin of tobacco, pipe cleaners, and maybe a box of fine cheroots. Plus, every two weeks or so, a canister of loose leaf tea.

On the other hand, the fortnight he spent in London with his girlfriend was a marvelous opportunity. Before the exhaust of his Volkswagen beetle had even faded from the alleyway, I had gone upstairs to the study and raided his desk.
I knew exactly where his pipes were.

Spent a glorious fourteen days smoking fine English pipe tobacco in gorgeous briar, far better than the measly pieces of wood that I owned.
I made sure I ran pipe cleaners through them after each use, and that none of them were dinged, scratched, or otherwise damaged.
He must have wondered at the powerful reek of Latakia in the house when he returned, strongest near his microscope and the draughting equipment, but he didn't say anything.


If I ever have children, I will quite naturally suspect them of doing the same.
Practise makes perfect; by the time they graduate from high-school, they should know all about Turkish, Latakia, flue-cured ribbons, aged flake, plain cavendish, dark twist, Perique, Maryland...........
At least I darn well hope so.


In the meantime, I think I should have either the small she-sheep or the senior teddy bear guard my pants while I sleep. Perhaps mr. Oyster. They seem to be the only non-human members of the household with an ethical fundament.

Problem is that they live in the other bedroom and rather eschew my side of the apartment for being seedy and riotous. I'll have to bribe them.

 

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