I mentioned this on facebook and, of course, they immediately returned not only the nail scissors I had been looking for for days, but also a pair of paper scissors that had vanished from my den a year or so ago. But they were not done playing with me.
I had a few packages to mail, which meant needing to find a Sharpie to write the addresses. I was sure there was one on either the desk in the study nook or on the dining room table. (The migration of pens in my house is a whole other subject and involves those two locations and one of the nightstands in my bedroom. For some reason, neither my den nor the other bedroom nightstand get involved.)
Of course, I couldn't find a Sharpie, because the OD-oids were busy mailing packages of things they had cut up using my scissors. Eventually, a sub-Sharpie (in fact, a United Airlines roller ball pen) turned up, which was good enough for my purposes. No sooner had I addressed the third and final package than a Sharpie appeared on the dining room table, approximately 3 inches from my right hand.
Well-played OD-oids, well-played.
(I will catch up on life in this dimension soon. To nobody's surprise, it includes theatre, ballet, food, knitting, and dead celebrities.)