I Got a Present! (For Which I Inexplicably Had to Fight Stoned Cats)
I got a present in the mail!
An American reader of this blog, Melly, wrote me a while ago to ask questions about the size of my feet. She swore that she wasn't being creepy or stalking me, especially since her passport had expired, and that, since I had shared my craft with her, she just wanted to share her craft with me. I figured, with an expired passport between us, what could be the harm? I sent my home address to her straight away.*
I had no idea what was in the package when it arrived. It didn't rattle or smell weird, though, so I figured everything was on the up and up.
Luckily, like that time I flew to Mississippi to hang out with an internet person I'd never even seen to live in a tin-roofed shack in the middle of nowhere for several days, no one died, and almost exactly like that trip, which left me with a lovely pair of stripy toe socks, I got a gorgeous pair of hand-knit socks out of the deal.**
As you can see from the photos above and below, though, the cats, Onion and Oskar, were also rather enchanted with my new footwear.
Although, I think "enchanted" is the wrong descriptor here. Witness the crazy leaping above and the clawed swiping below.
They were hysterical with new sock excitement. It was like my new socks were cat drugs. Can catnip be spun into yarn? Can cocaine?
Onion and Oskar scrambled in circles around my feet, smelling my toes and pulling at my heels with their teeth. I had to wipe cat drool off the phone's camera lens, and Oskar left a little goo trail around one of the toes.
When Oskar finally made a game of leaping up onto my back and then jumping down to bury his nose in the wool in a continuous circuit up and down and around my body like a coke-addled Tasmanian devil, I declared my sock photoshoot over.
"DUDES. THIS IS SO NOT COOL. MELLOW. THE HELL. OUT."
You should hear my cat mom voice. It makes kitties disappear in less than two seconds. And, yes, this is how I really talk to my cats. Dudes.
Now that the cats have adjusted to the presence of these apparently amazing-to-kitties-crack-socks and stopped hurling themselves at and around them in a frenzy, I find these socks to be lovely and warm and perfect for my cuddling-down-on-the-couch wardrobe. If the animals manage to remain non-violent around them, these socks and I will be together often. In short, I love them.
From one sometimes knitter to one who is obviously much more highly skilled, these are great beauties. Thank you so much, Melly.
And also, Melly? You maybe just created a new invention with these kitty drug socks. Go be rich!***
* My life choices are not always advisable, and I do not condone their broad application.
** Again, not all rash decisions to share intimate life details or shack up in foreign countries with internet people you've never seen before end up with you getting fabulous socks. Be warned.
*** Melly just informed me that she has four dogs. Oskar hates dogs — HATES — which explains why he was all claws and leaping. He tried to beat up a large English sheepdog once because it had the audacity to stand where he could see it.