Clem was convinced that the yarn lady had finally lost her mind. Two weeks ago she’d come home with a baggie of small squares of fleece. She’d plopped them on the table, commenting to Clem that she’d just worn out her fingers fringing larger squares for a pillow project for the kids at the craft shop. These, she said, were the corner pieces she’d cut out. Well, yesterday she’d opened the bag, sorted the little squares and then started sewing them together. First strips of them, and then she’d started sewing the strips together until she had a square made of a whole bunch of them. After she’d finished that, she rummaged around in her crafts closet and came out with a piece of flowery fabric, cut it down and started sewing it to the fleecy thing. It was bizarre enough that she’d first cut up the big pieces into little pieces and then sewn them up again, but she’d put the pretty side of the fabric against the pretty side of the fleecy thing before she started sewing. If she was going to waste all that time, at least she could put the pretty sides out. Oh well. Maybe all this holiday stuff had made her crack.
The yarn lady was doing all sorts of crafty things lately, and she wouldn’t let Clem play with any of them. It just wasn’t fair. Yesterday, before she’d started sewing the squares, she’d used up almost a whole box of teeny tiny pins to attach a pretty embroidered picture to a piece of foam core. She muttered the whole time, complaining that the pins were too small or her fingers too big. Every time she dropped a pin Clem had run to play with it, but the yarn lady swooped down and grabbed it before Clem could even get near it. One time she’d commented, “Oh, no, my pretty. I’m not trusting you with anything little anymore – not since you slurped down that little piece of embroidery thread like it was spaghetti. I’m still waiting to find it in the litter box.”
The embroidery thread thing had been an experiment. Clem usually just played with the thread when the yarn lady was stitching. She’d try to grab it as the needle went in and out of the fabric, or if she left a bunch of it on the table she’d grab it and run off with it. There had been plenty of little pieces before, and she’d never even considered eating them. She hadn’t even been hungry. It had just looked good somehow, so she’d grabbed the end in her mouth and slurped the rest on down. It didn’t have anything to recommend it in texture or flavor, so she didn’t think she’d repeat the experiment. Well, at least not with the green thread. Maybe another color would taste better.
Boxes were piling up in the sunroom. It seemed like every day or two another box arrived. The yarn lady didn’t open any of them, saying they were Christmas presents sent by her sister or things she’d ordered. Clem had overheard her saying she’d get around to opening them soon, as she couldn’t figure out which ones were for whom. Clem hoped that at least something in there was for her. Five more days until Christmas. That was a long time when you’re just a kitten to wait. Clem sighed and put her head down on her paws, gazing at the boxes and wishing she had x-ray vision.
The yarn lady was doing all sorts of crafty things lately, and she wouldn’t let Clem play with any of them. It just wasn’t fair. Yesterday, before she’d started sewing the squares, she’d used up almost a whole box of teeny tiny pins to attach a pretty embroidered picture to a piece of foam core. She muttered the whole time, complaining that the pins were too small or her fingers too big. Every time she dropped a pin Clem had run to play with it, but the yarn lady swooped down and grabbed it before Clem could even get near it. One time she’d commented, “Oh, no, my pretty. I’m not trusting you with anything little anymore – not since you slurped down that little piece of embroidery thread like it was spaghetti. I’m still waiting to find it in the litter box.”
The embroidery thread thing had been an experiment. Clem usually just played with the thread when the yarn lady was stitching. She’d try to grab it as the needle went in and out of the fabric, or if she left a bunch of it on the table she’d grab it and run off with it. There had been plenty of little pieces before, and she’d never even considered eating them. She hadn’t even been hungry. It had just looked good somehow, so she’d grabbed the end in her mouth and slurped the rest on down. It didn’t have anything to recommend it in texture or flavor, so she didn’t think she’d repeat the experiment. Well, at least not with the green thread. Maybe another color would taste better.
Boxes were piling up in the sunroom. It seemed like every day or two another box arrived. The yarn lady didn’t open any of them, saying they were Christmas presents sent by her sister or things she’d ordered. Clem had overheard her saying she’d get around to opening them soon, as she couldn’t figure out which ones were for whom. Clem hoped that at least something in there was for her. Five more days until Christmas. That was a long time when you’re just a kitten to wait. Clem sighed and put her head down on her paws, gazing at the boxes and wishing she had x-ray vision.
Photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/cobalt/500668837
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