There I am, banging furiously away at Ye Olde Keyboard, laboriously describing the utter villainy of the depraved High Priest Thapegti-Thoth, his beauteous, yet evil daughter Marin-Ara, and their henchogre Knudle (the 'K' is silent, like in "knight" or "knife", because if it weren't, it'd sound like "Canoodle" and that's just humiliating for a lad wot's in my line of work, am I right?) when Chris wanders by and mentions, kind of off-hand, "If you find where the cats are hiding the knives, try to get my utility knife back."
That innocent sentence spent two paragraphs in queue before that little voice in the back of my head said, "Hold on ... what?"
My brother is in the habit of emptying his pocket litter into a little glass bowl on top of the bedroom computer tower after work each day. Amongst said pocket litter is usually a utility knife.
Apparently bandit or bandits unknown have been heisting said utility knives -- to the tune of about four of them -- before sunrise next.
A quick check, and I have discovered that in addition to the above, a Spyderco Delica, a Case Russlock and a Kershaw/Ken Onion Whirlwind are missing from the end table in my room -- along with some other small, shiny, easily moved trinkets.
You know, if I were given to flights of fancy, I might wonder what Ittycat has been telling Thing vis a vis veterinarians and neutering.
Since I am not, I think I'll go find out where those two thieves are stashing their toys.
If I come across a set of Op-Orders signed with a paw-print, though, all bets are off.