Beanie Babies. Unless you've been living in a cave in the remote Pacific Northwest for the last couple of years, you've probably seen and/or heard about them, probably more times than you've cared. But, on the off chance that you have just emerged from hibernation, I am talking about those little animal bean-bag toys. I use the term "toy" loosely, because calling something a toy more or less implies that it might be played with by a child. Most of the beeny babies I've ever seen are encased in shrouds of plastic never to be touched--much less played with--by grubby little human fingers.

 

As you can tell, I am by no means an avid collector of these current tributes to mainstream marketing virtues. If memory serves, I think I own three--a pink flamingo, a white pegasus, and a red dog. The flamingo was a gift from my sister-in-law (who I distinctly remember saying: These are really cute and they're only $4, you should go buy some--they're going to be big. That was three years ago. If this woman ever gives you a stock tip, I strongly suggest you listen.)

 

My "collection" was expanded when someone gave me a Cocoa Cola "beanie," a gray seal with a stocking cap (much cuter than any "legitimate" one if you ask me.) This past holiday I gave my roomate an angry little penguin that stems from yet another pop craze collection.

And, of course, there is the Dilbert animal collection: Ratbert, Dogbert, and Catbert.

All of this was a rather long-winded way of setting up the fact that this motley collection was strewn randomly on various bookshelves throughout the house: Decor by Tyco et al if you will.

Then one day, out of the blue, we started to notice something very strange: The Beanies were disappearing.

You know how you can look at something a hundred times and not really notice, then one day you look up and realize that there is something different. Its subtle, but different.

It started with the Cocoa Cola Seal. Then Dogbert vanished, followed by the Big Red dog. They were just...gone. We checked the floor, behind the bookcase, under the desk--thinking that perhaps a late-night session of that thing called "**frapping" might have literally led to wall climbing. But they weren't merely displaced, they were completely vanished. All that remained to speak of their presence was the patch of clean on the dust-covered shelves where they'd been.

Just when we feared we might actually have to take drastic measures (and dust the shelves), we got our first clue. My roommate walked into her office/study/sanctuary and noticed Badzu Ragu (or whatever his name is) lying face-down on the futon. It is only about three feet from the bookcase to the futon, but when you're an inanimate Cartoon bean-bag, its quite a chasm. We combed the area around the fallen penguin, but aside from a proliferation of animal hair, a few fuzzy mice, and some catnip stems, there didn't seem to be anything relevant to the case.

Baffled, we put Prego back on the shelf and went about our lives. Two days later, all that remained was a dustless profile where his acrylic pinfeathers once rested.

One by one, innocent kitch was being carted off into the darkness, never to gather dust again. And we appeared powerless to stop the madness.

It was only a matter of time, it seemed, before the Pooh Grams fell prey to this velcro-fingered burglar. There was a thief in our midst and we cast suspicious glances at each other. No one slept easy, wondering when the fiend would strike again. In a desperation, we moved the remaining Beanies to the mantle in the living room. There they waited, all lined up like the proverbial sitting ducks that they were.

For a week, nothing happened.

One particular long, cold, dark night, there came a rustling. Soft, subtle, but it was definitely there. I crept from the warmth and saftey of my bed, and made my way across the floor, only stumbling twice--over the same dog. Each time, as I picked myself up off the carpet, I'd pause to listen. It was still there, a soft rustling, like someone dragging something. Then, a muffled thump.

I stepped out into the hall and quietly made my way to the living room, not knowing what I would find there. Flipping on the light, I found Beanies scattered across the floor.

And Murphy.

Murphy is a year-old Maine Coon grey tabby, with a penchant for climbing and knocking things off in the floor. And apparently, she was broadening her repertoire to include kleptomania.

She was stopped in mid-stride, Ratbert clenched firmly in her jaws.

"Stop, thief, " I yelled. (Well, that's the way they do it on MacMillan and Wife.) She darted for the guestroom, still clutching Ratbert. I found her peering out from under the bed, the carcasses of beanies all around her.

Despite her protests that she was framed and that it was really the dog, we knew that we had found our "cat" burgular and the reign of Beanie terror had ended.

I'm happy to say that we recovered most of the missing Beanies over the course of the last couple of months. Only the ill-fated Badzu remains unaccounted for (we fear he may have been hidden in an errant trashcan and accidently discarded). The recovered collection is now safely shrouded in little plastic shoes covers and stored on the highest shelves. Still, if you'll look closely, you'll notice that some of those plastic covers have tiny little holes in them that look suspiciously like teeth marks.

Thus it would seem that the adage is true: Once you start collecting them, it really is hard to stop.

**For all non-cat owners, FRAP stands for frantic random activities period. Simply put, it means those times when cats (and especially kittens) go berzerk for no apparent reason. They run, jump, bounce and pounce on anything and everything. Sometimes, they literally run right up the walls. This usually lasts for about 20-30 minutes (usually in the wee hours of the morning), then they just stop, sanity restored. We call all the various lunacy that ensues during these periods "frapping."

---

 

Chapinfan@geocities.com
last updated March 1, 1998
Copyright © Chase Productions, 1998 All Rights Reserved
No assembly required, batteries not included.