I've been on this crochet kick lately. Even at work, I'm granny-squaring as
if my life depended on it. I got it into my head to make a poncho that looks
like I smoke weed on my coffee break and have little dancing bears all over
my computer. The bosses seem not to care because I'm less likely to snap off
on someone, and have been getting more sales referrals, so they leave me to
my arts-n-crafts. besides, I go bats if I don't have something to do with my
hands--the curse of being ADHD and an ex-smoker!

Home is another matter. What IS it with cats and yarn? In twenty years I
have never been able to figure it out. You think I go bats? Breaking out the
yarn causes quite a stir in the house, particularly among the Juvies. Brandy
and Stosh like to hunt the skeins and drag them to another part of the
house, where they get into a vicious yarn brawl and I end up having to pick
up and roll something that looks like a plate of spaghetti thrown in a major
temper tantrum. Roxie, more sedate, will watch intently and swat at the
yarn, or sit on top of the backrest on my couch and take a few swipes at my
crochet hook. And Odessa will watch as intently as Roxie, but has a look on
her face like, "What IS that stuff wiggling around, and what is Mama doing
with it, and why is everyone going berserk over it?" Formerly feral, Odessa
is still learning to play, and studies her siblings playing like an
anthropologist spying on a primitive tribe for a National Geographic story.
Yesterday Stosh tried to dig into my bag of almost-finished poncho to get at
the yarn. He and Brandy will jump at it, try to bite it in midair, and once
tried to drag off the whole poncho while I was tying off a knot.

I'd like to make an afghan, but I'm scared of what they'll do to it.
Especially if and when Odessa decides she likes yarn!

Blessed be,
Baha

--

Three thousand years ago,
cats were deified in ancient Egypt.
To this day, they have not forgotten.