I spent the evening pretty focused on posting Benjamin M. Robarts latest letter. (It's a good one, long, meaty, and amusing in places). When I surfaced, I found tangles of pink yarn on my bed with a trail of yarn down the hall, over the baby gate guarding the Den of Happiness, around the leg of a chair in the middle of the room, back over the baby gate, and back into my room.
Andrew Robarts is now trying to re-wind the yarn. Felicity is "helping" him.