Cat Chronicles · knitting

Cat Chronicles – The Official Complaint

 

I would like to lodge a formal complaint.  When exactly can we expect normal service to be resumed?  We are creatures of habit the large one and I and, quite frankly, lately, things have just not been up to scratch.  Absolutely no pun intended, scratching is a fundamental feline right and I will not have it mocked here thank you so very much.  And of course it falls to me to make the complaint.  I mean look at her:

St Gertrude knows I love my sister but she’s not exactly the sharpest needle in the pincushion so it falls to me to raise the issue.  Just look at me.

 

Consigned to the hard wooden chair beneath the kitchen table.  You don’t think that looks so bad?  No?  Regard my sister and I in these shots:

This is where we should be right now, on top of the wool.  Or, at a push, atop some newly laundered fabric.

When, may I ask, can we expect full-scale crafting to begin again?  We require pattern paper to lie upon.  We require you to sit at the machine-that-makes-a-noise-but-I-don’t-hate.  I need to be on top of the kitchen table watching the bobbin whirl and batting the seam ripper to the floor.

I mean we have seen glimpses of normality.  There was wool at the weekend, there was wool at lap-time (19:30-19:45 GMT precisely).  But there was moaning too.  Something about knitting four rows and then having to undo ten when she realised that she had made a mistake late last week and isn’t that just a metaphor for how life as a whole has been recently and why don’t I just buy everything off the internet like a sane person anyway.  And she gets so tetchy when we play catch the loose yarn.  Why play with two separate coloured balls of wool if you don’t want me to catch both colours?  I am hard-wired to seek, locate and destroy moving objects.  Fairisle my furry ****.

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May I respectfully suggest that as the youngest has fully integrated into big school and as the older male has returned from his travels (smelling of hotels and airports) that you, older female, you i) adjust to your new job and your new hours ii) yarn-bomb the desk-of-your-own-for-the-first-time-in-a-decade and iii) carry on sewing.

We await your answer.  We await outside in the wet, on top of the fence, accumulating droplets of water like some sort of cloud, waiting for you to stop using the machine-that-I-hate-with-every-fibre-of-my-being.

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Regards, the-smaller-of-the-two-felines-that-share-your-property.

 

 

 

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