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So... not even half an hour had I been home with the bag of knitting before the kitten (not the one pictured in my icon) gotten into the yarn and Made Art. Because the kitten is a freaking walking, purring stereotype who is deeply, profoundly enamoured of wool yarn in particular.
The only blessing is that I got to it before he'd managed to make it an installation across multiple floors of the house. (Our bedroom is in the basement directly underneath the living room.)
Mind you, "the kitten"? Is six years old and about 5.5 kilos. He grew big, but he never grew up. (Miles Harper is his name; we thought we named him for Miles O'Brien (Star Trek) and Roy Harper (DCU) since he's a redhead. Oh but we found out, he's really much more of a Miles Vorkosigan sort of Miles.)
So clearly I need to knit him a damn fuzzy ball out of wool yarn that he IS allowed to trail around with and maybe he'll ever deign to leave the knitting alone? /o\
The only blessing is that I got to it before he'd managed to make it an installation across multiple floors of the house. (Our bedroom is in the basement directly underneath the living room.)
Mind you, "the kitten"? Is six years old and about 5.5 kilos. He grew big, but he never grew up. (Miles Harper is his name; we thought we named him for Miles O'Brien (Star Trek) and Roy Harper (DCU) since he's a redhead. Oh but we found out, he's really much more of a Miles Vorkosigan sort of Miles.)
So clearly I need to knit him a damn fuzzy ball out of wool yarn that he IS allowed to trail around with and maybe he'll ever deign to leave the knitting alone? /o\
