The Siege

In addition to being ornery and paranoid, weasels foul their environment. The W moved into the family living room, right next to the kitchen, when he, Pippa and Thespia returned to Brooklyn. After all, that's where the big screen TV and the games were located, as well as the DVD player, the audio equipment and all the CDs - pretty much anything a lad could want to keep happily busy and divert himself from the hell of a home search. He was moving out, under protest. As soon as he found a place. Not just any place: a place in the neighborhood of the elementary school where Thespia taught and Pippa attended. Pippa was about to become a two home child. Thespia was, of course, not consulted about whether The W's proximity to her work place was in any way distasteful.
Shortly, Thespia noticed an absence of dishes and eating utensils. Things that had vanished did not reappear. Pans piled up in the kitchen sink each day while she and Pippa were at school. Finally, out of forks, she cautiously ventured into the living room during one of The W's infrequent absences.
First there was the smell. Tired socks, wet carpet, something very, very pungent and stale, and a peculiar, alarming musk, close cousin to polecat odor. Then there was the mess: bedding heaped on the floor, CDs and DVDs spilling from the coffee table, crunching underfoot, clothing discarded on every surface, windows smudging. Everything she touched was sticky. Every cup and glass held the dregs of some murky, volatile liquid. She gathered up some forks and knives and shut the living room door firmly as she left it. She and Pippa began taking their meals in the master bedroom, washing their dishes in the tub and hiding their silverware in Pippa's sock drawer.
Miraculously, The W found a place to rent and rented it. He immediately gathered up the paltry few of their possessions (TV, CD player, computers, games) that he deemed worthy of making the move. Then he began to shop: beds for himself and Pippa, new area rugs, dishes, cookware, art. Not too much later, Thespia opened the mail to find that The W, always in charge of the checkbook, had paid no household bills - including the mortgage - for two months. She also discovered that he had raided their equity line, to the tune of $55,000 and there seemed to be nothing to show for it except his ever-mounting number of new household goods. Just before the neighbors called the health department, the W moved, taking the car.