Spring, and a young cat's fancy

turns to thoughts of destroying Mom's yarn.

Just the last week or so, both cats have decided that they must carry around a ball of yarn in their teeth at all times. Okay, fine. I understand that urge. I've even been a little indulgent, letting them play with leftover balls of acrylic or dishcloth cotton or what have you.

That may have been a mistake, because now they want The Good Stuff. This morning, before I'd finished my first cup of coffee, I walked into the living room and discovered my Clapotis on the floor. A needle was lying next to it, and the ball of yarn had been completely unwound (much like myself as I looked upon the destruction) and was wrapped around the television. Wrapped. Around. The television.

El Fuego was very sympathetic and supportive - and optimistic, which is unusual for him. "Maybe it's not so bad," he said, rubbing my back. I was shuddering, hands over my face. The horror.

"Are you kidding me?" I cried. "They pulled the needle out of it! Look! The needle is lying next to it. Oh my God I'll never get all those stitches back on there properly. Oh my God. If they snagged it, there just won't be any hope."

I finally worked up the gumption to pick it up off the floor, and...And. We can all sigh with relief now. The needle was still in it. Completely in, no stitches dropped. It was the other needle that was lying on the floor (every project is entitled to two, you know) (Sorry, I stole that from "A Hard Day's Night," sort of). No snags. Clapotis is fine.

Clapotis: Not damaged at all. The cats just wanted to unravel the ball of yarn, and that's all they did.

But I'm not taking any chances. This morning I became the proud owner of a Project Bin, a nice cat-proof bin where all my works-in-progress can live in safety and relative comfort. What makes it cat-proof? Why, the brick I set on top of it, of course.

The centerpiece of my living room is a yarn-filled plastic bin with a brick on top. What would Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen say?