So my dad nearly gave me a heart attack last night. He called me before my night class because our 13 year old cat, Cleopatra, had gone missing. He’d let her out the previous afternoon and hadn’t seen her in 24 hours. I had to go to class and focus and take notes and compartmentalize and not worry about how my cat could be dead, and then I called him later and he still hadn’t found her and I was terrified that something had happened to her and was giving him instructions like “Let Emmie (my dog) off of the leash to go find her!” “Turn Tarzan on on high in the kitchen and open the windows!” (this cat likes music) “Did you check my sister and I’s closet?” (we’re her favorite people) and then he went down to the cat room and she was sleeping up on the top shelf, happy as can be.
I made him give her the phone so I could tell her how happy I was that she was safe. She sniffed it.
In the depths of my distress, I managed to crochet a shapeless blue fingerless glove. I don’t know if I’m going to make it a match. I probably will, just because. And then maybe use the rest of the yarn on a scarf. Or make more acorn marionettes.
Have I told you about that? No? Well, it’s all part of my evil plan…