Ponies, Lies, and Fat Cats

My children are liars. Not just Scooter, Doodlebug is also an unrepentent deceiver. I fully expect the baby's first sentence to be a lie.

Some examples of their mendacity.

Fat Elvis the Destroyer

I'm on my way back from covering a video game tournament in Mexico when I get a text message from the kids back home: Elvis had broken the coffee table. O rly? How did he accomplish this?

Kids: He jumped up on it and it broke.
Me: That's hard to believe since I was dancing on it while singing selections from "Evita" a couple weeks ago. I'm certain I weigh more than Elvis.
Kids: maybe he hit it at just the right angle?

This lie is so stupid. I get home and the whole house is spotless, minus a coffee table. I know they're full of shit but it takes them over a year to admit it. They told me they really really wanted a new coffee table and so they threw the old one away so I'd be forced to buy a new one. Riiiight.

My Little Crew Cut
I come home from work one day and my daughter is indignant. She has found her two favorite My Little Ponies under her brother's bed. And they've been scalped! Long flowing manes and tails --the raison d'etre of these toys-- are now brightly-colored bristles. Scooter can't stop laughing. "Why would I do that? How would that possibly benefit me? And why is she looking under my bed?" All good points. This wizard of deception even convinced me that Doodlebug had vandalized her own ponies and PLANTED them in Scooter's room to FRAME him. She of course denied this. Two years after the fact, (and after torturing his sister by revising the My Little Pony theme thusly: "My little pony, my litle pony, I cut off all your hair") Scooter not only admits to giving the ponies buzzcuts, but his reasoning was this: He had to make a video for Spanish class and it was his intention to use his sister's ponies to create a Spanish remake of Charlie the Unicorn. I still don't understand why Spanish unicorns have crewcuts.

Still Unsolved
A few days ago I noticed some scratches on the door that leads from the livingroom to my bedroom. The scratches are about a foot off the floor and appear to spell out HELP. As if some close-to-the-ground critter is pleading for entry. Both big kids deny doing it. The baby can neither speak nor write. Fat Elvis is both illiterate and too lazy to take on such a project. So what? Am I to believe there is some baseboard demon lurking? I guess someone will 'fess up in a year or two.