Every night, Bob was being visited by a mysterious apostrophe thief. This
stealthy punctuation master would slice out all the apostrophes that didn’t belong
and take them away. Bob had never caught a glimpse of his visitor. He was left with
only the results — accurate sentences.
Over time, Bob had noticed a pattern. Those vague and disturbing pronouns it,
you, and they often had apostrophes going missing into the night. For these words,
an apostrophe was left behind only for a situation where Bob was putting words
together:
• It’s strange that this is happening. [replacing It is]
• You’re not going to believe this. [replacing You are]
• They’re wrong about me being a punctuation genius. [replacing They are]
When Bob was writing about the possession of something, the apostrophes
disappeared. Instead of it’s, you’re, and they’re, he was left with its, your, and their.
• If only the town knew its resident writer was not the true source of
punctuation knowledge. [the resident writer belonged to the town]
• My dog always barks at your arrival, oh mysterious visitor. [the visitor
controls the arrival]
• But the townsfolk go on their merry way, unaware of who is in their midst.
[the townsfolk are responsible for their oblivious activity]
At the sound of the dog barking, Bob sprinted into his home office. He found a
shrouded figure crouched on his messy desk, claws resting lightly on the surface.
Bob halted in the doorway.
He whispered, “It’s you! You’re the one who’s been stealing my apostrophes and
preserving my reputation! They’re treating me like I’m a genius, but you’re the one
who truly knows!”