Yes, Virginia, There is a Sock Monster.

In my estimation, doing laundry is like the ancient myth where a man has to roll a huge stone up a hill only to have it roll back down where he will endlessly repeat the process. Yet, laundry is not only like this myth, it is a mystery within a myth. The mystery being, where do all the socks go and why is it that only one goes missing? I've never had my pants walk off or had a top vanish, never had a sweater go AWOL. This mystery has followed me through 7 states and 10 cities.

I've examined my washer and found no sinkholes or portholes for escapees to vanish through. I've checked my dryer--none there either. I've checked the sliver of space between my washer and dryer to see if grabbing hands protrude--they don't. It leaves me with one logical conclusion--there is a sock monster.

I don't understand his pathos though. Why does he take one sock and not a pair? Why one big sock and one little, one white with pink trim, one solid black? What is he gaining out of all this? Is it only to torture me as I stare at a pile of mismatched, unpaired socks when my folding is done. A calling card to let me know he's been here?

I have a box now--a sock monster box. At the end of the folding process anyone without a partner goes into the sock monster box. They sit there until they find their partner, a perfect match; then they leave a happy couple once again. Sometimes they sit there for weeks or months. At some point tough choices are made. Some go on death row. Some are partnered with another mismatch, like an interracial marriage; Ms. pink trim is partnered with Mr. blue trim. They make a slightly odd but acceptable couple. If 6 months go by and no partner has been found and an extensive search party has done its job, then the left behind ones are lined up and marched to the trash bin. From there they go to wherever lonely, unpaired socks go. And the cycle continues with new unpaired ones showing up weekly to take their place. It is a process that goes on and on, round and round, just like the cycle on my washer and dryer.

The Cat is Always Right

Sometimes we adults get so preoccupied with people things that we are often unaware of the conversations that our pets are carrying on. One day when I was relaxed from a bit too much rum in my eggnog I found myself tuning in to an argument between our barn cat, Bodicea and our faithful dog, Strider. Apparently Strider had been boasting to Bodicea that he had written the Oster 2009 Christmas letter. Strider informed her that he was now officially top dog. Bodicea had not taken well to the chest thumping and was giving him a piece of her mind when I tuned in to the conversation.

"Top dog!" Bodicea choked out. "Well, that just shows how ill-informed you truly are. The words top and dog don't even go together. Dogs are so far down on the evolutionary chart that one could never call a canine top anything."

"You're jealous, yeah, that's it, isn't it? You weren't chosen to write the letter. That means that the Osters think that I'm the smarter of us." Strider responded.

"Smart?, you have the audacity to call yourself smart. Well, listen up little doggie. First of all, one of us is a working animal. Do you get that...working. Only smart animals work, and I'm the one who has a job on this property. You, on the other hand, are in the house all day being a lazy layabout."

"Alright, I'm confused, you have a job? From what I see you walk around all day eating gross stuff like mice, so what's all this ranting about a job?"

"How dumb can you be, Strider? Eating that "gross stuff" as you call it, is my job! I keep this place rodent free. That is a full time job. I am the pest control, but you sit in the house eating processed food from China and fart all day. You could say that I eat all natural or organic as they say in Vermont. I contribute significantly to this farm.

"Whoa-wait just a second, you have cat food that comes from a bag too. I see the kids put it out for you on the stoop each day."

"It supplements my hunting diet if you must know. If I don't get it I can still survive; you, on the other hand couldn't get by if they didn't feed. You-you're dependent as they say. Not to mention how greedy you are; I've seen you stealing my cat food from the stoop."

"Alright it's tempting you know. A growing pup needs a full and varied diet at this age."

"But...cat food??!"

"Food is food is food."

"Case in point, you just demonstrated that you're not so smart."

"Alrighty then, if you're so smart then let me hear your attempt at a Christmas letter."

"Fine, here it goes...
Dear family and friends,
What a wonderful year it has been here on Bywater Farm. My year of pest management has been highly successful. I have caught several baby rabbits which makes Mr. Oster very happy. When I am not hunting (the warrior queen they call me) I can be found soaking in the views while perched on my favorite fence or scratching my back on a lovely pine tree outside the barn. Though I am 9 years old, I still look terrific and haven't lost my agility..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back this train up. Do you know anything about Christmas letters? You're not suppose to talk about yourself. You are suppose to tell about the family-as in Mom, Dad and the kids. No one cares what a mangy outdoor cat is doing!"

"I am the most important part of this family so naturally the reader would want to hear about me first. I'll get to the others later."

"What...in the last two sentences? You don't even live in the house!"

"I hope you're not implying that living in the house makes you family. I've seen your living quarters; they have you in a metal cage with a lock. You're not free-you're a glorified prisoner."

"It's a crate and it has a soft bed in there AND a toy."

"Strider, you're so naive, the toy is bait to get you inside and keep you there. It means they don't trust you bud. They're afraid you'll tear the house apart; so you're under lock and key, so to speak. While I, on the other hand, have freedom to roam the entire property."

"Well, you're afraid of sheep! I've seen you avoid the barn when they're there. I've seen you cower in fear. Some warrior you are, afraid of a few fluffy sheep. I'm the true warrior, I tell those sheep right where to go, and I make them do it!"

"I..I...well, I'm not afraid as you say. I'm simply annoyed by them. I don't have time for creatures who hit each other in the head repeatedly, and frankly I don't have time to keep explaining things to you that you should already know. I've got work to do!"

"Yeah, so do I. I've got a new toy I've got to check out."

"Oh brother!" Off Bodicea goes to roam the property with an air of superiority. She stops for a second and peers back at Strider. "The cat is always right, Strider. That's all you need to know for today...The cat is ALWAYS right!"