Interim Hat

Kepler Kontinues, slowly.

In the meantime, I whipped up a quick Lil' Devil Baby Hat (from Kittyville) for a friend's child (BabyB turns one this Sunday). Not sure if this is a one year old sized hat, but she'll grow into it if not. Also both her parents have ginormous heads.

I don't have a baby head shaped sphere upon which to model the hat, so I propped it up on the desk lamp. This happens to be Junebug's favorite FreakOutCat spot. So she, you guessed it, freaked out. This picture was taken right before she went all badda-bidda-badda-bidda on the lampshade.

Murphy's Law

Paragraph Four, Line 5 clearly states:

"Whinging about package delivery times will immediately evoke aforementioned tardy package, thus depositing metaphorical egg on face".

Witness:


Shimmer in Stained Glass and Alpaca Cloud in Midnight


detail of midnight

Oh. Sooo. Soooooft. I can almost forgive the waiting. Hold on (pet pet pet). Yeah. All is forgiven.

The Hardest Part

Rock Chick says it more succintly, but Great Golly O'Molly! It takes a wee bit longer than the prophesized "3-5 days" for a KnitPicks delivery to make it here. I've heard wonderful things about the alpaca/silk blend "store brand" yarn of theirs... here's hoping it's worth it.

On the upside, I'm still waiting for the E. Zimmerman book (Knitting Around? Something like that.) so I'd still be spinning my wheels even if the yarn had arrived in a timely fashion.

I know, I know, "you get what you paid for" and "beggars can't be choosers". But if someone says "3-5 days". Well. Who would have thought that I still had such an optomistic streak in my crusty ol' body.

I could be working on Kepler, I know. But. Well. I'm just having lots of second thoughts about the drapeyness of the yarn I'm using. I've learned enough about myself to know that if I'm having these kinds of second thoughts not even halfway through the project, the end result is most likely going to be hanks of kinky, freshly frogged yarn being jammed hastily into the back of a yarn bin.

Harumph.

Yes, I'm one of those kind of knitters.

Like frat houses and backwards baseball caps, patchouli and VW buses, or flip flops and anyone in Portland, there seems to be a direct correlation between knitters and cats.

I'm no exception.

So as I continue to toil away on Kepler v 1.5 (I've finished the back and am staring with purpose/anguish at the sleeve cable bands) here's a brief introduction to the hairier members of my little family:



Xena, warrior princess
Xena was found on the side of the road five years ago. The Mr.'s co-worker brought her in after not being able to find anyone to claim her in his neighborhood. She was a month old white fluff ball and neither of us could turn her away. I don't know what happened during her month on the streets, but she's the shy, skittish, stranger-averse one of our two "kids". She gets the name more for her beautiful blue eyes than any ululating chutzpah.



Junebug, the dogcat
Junebug came into our home as a companion for Xena. We'd go to work and Xena would be huddled on the back of the couch facing the front door with her huge eyes ("as big as bells" as Mr. Eitzel would say) and we'd come home to find her in exactly the same spot, as if she was afraid we weren't coming back.

Our local free paper has a "free pets" section. We got in touch with a couple that lived out in the sticks in a trailer with the mama cat, her adolescent daughter from a previous litter, her current litter of five kittens, a wolf-looking dog, and a guinea pig. The lastest litter were delivered in one of the women's dresser drawer, and Junebug was the calmest of the bunch. She also apparently had a fetish for sleeping in the women's hair. Cute when she was a kitten. Maybe not so much now that she's a twelve pounder. We call it the "where's the nipple?" game.

Due to her instant socialization with all the menagerie in that trailer, Junebug is fearless, inquisitive, and downright agressive when it comes to getting fed. She used to play fetch until she realized it was unbecoming.

She and Xena were our first pets ever, so they trained us more than we trained them. Thus my knitting must be carefully monitored and stored for fear of meeing up with Mr. Klaw:

Oh no you DI-INT come at me with one of them clipper thingies!

Survey says...

AAAAAARGN

A little visual proof that at one point there were sleeves... lopsided monkey-a** looking cable bands and all... but there they were. I usually am not so meticulous as to block as I go along Pausing to do this let my misgivings catch up with me, which I guess will be a good thing. Given time and distance. I can't call all of my projects "little bitch", right?

So it's gone save for the cable bands and about 75% of the front body. Right now the knitting is marinating in it's itty bitty plastic bin of Time Out while I finish reading Foucault's Pendulum.

Because I'd rather try to translate Latin/Italian/German/Hebrew/academic ululations than face my Kepler at the moment.