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So, Tigra produced an epic stench in the catbox; like a good catslave who values her sinuses, I got up to change said catbox. After removing the stench-producing contents, I went outside with the rubbish bag.


I returned indoors to see Tigra conscientiously sitting in the catbox, with a somewhat upset expression as she emptied her bladder. I hadn’t refilled the catbox yet, and this meant that she was weeing all over her own feet. Poor little cat!


She doesn’t enjoy having her paws washed. But I don’t particularly enjoy cleaning urine pawprints off the carpet, so I’d say we’re even.




Patchwork

May. 22nd, 2012 02:32 pm
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Sometime this week, 34 assorted boxes of Stuff land from the UK. It’s the last bits of Tobermory’s personal possessions; plus an Ikea bookshelf and assorted gubbins, a Christmas present for me.


This will, of course, cause problems of the storage variety. Some of them will be solved fairly readily (via the construction of said Ikea bookshelf and it’s use in my craft room). Some of them will take longer, and require systematic reorganisation of the house.


I figure we might be done by Christmas. 2015.


Still, Operation 2012 continues as best we can. The craft room has been reorganised a couple of times (pending addition of epic bookshelf). Tobermory spontaneously suggested repainting, lying in bed a few nights ago. Partly in a “let’s make this house OURS, dammit” vein, partly in a “the wallpaper in the bedroom is horrible” vein… I don’t really care why, I’m just thrilled he’s finally decided that we need to repaint! I’ve been wanting to repaint since we moved in. Although, admittedly, I’ve only really had ideas about what to paint the place in the last year or so (and we’re on year four in the house now).


Four years. How did that happen?


I have other plans afoot. I’ve had an itch for months to recover a chair or something for said craft room. Having seen patchwork chairs on the internets, that idea took root. I finally found a chair in the style I wanted on TradeMe – and very sadly, it came with a two seater couch. All for $50! The material cost – I’m doing this properly, I’ve bought upholstery-weight fabric for parts of it, and the patchwork will be interfaced and stitched onto upholstery-weight calico for strength – is somewhat more extensive. But still, $300 for a two seater couch and armchair that I really love – at least, love in the abstract so far – is nothing to sneeze at.


The couch has the feline seal of approval. Tigra has adopted it as Hers, and is found there every night at present. Sweet little cat.


I don’t get to start on my project for a few weeks, though. I’m visiting Nay next weekend; then after that, going down to Wellington for the Salsa Congress. I am both nervous and excited by this prospect. Still, it’s all booked and paid for, I have clothes and shoes and makeup… all I have to do is get on the plane and convince myself to have fun.


Easy, right…?




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Amongst the other things in my Foodbox this week, I had a 10kg box of cooking-quality plums. So far, we’ve had an epic plum crumble and eight jars of jam.


I’m on the road again next week, for work. This time, I’m fairly close to my hometown – so I’m driving down in my own car (although will be expensing the mileage), and I’ll swing past and visit Mum Friday night, Nana Saturday, and home that afternoon/evening. I’m looking forward to the trip – it’s awhile since I’ve seen Nana, and it’s an opportunity to drop off some of the ridiculous amounts of jam/sauce I’ve managed to collect in the pantry lately. Fortunately both Mum and Nana actually like jam, as 10kg of plums turns into a truly ridiculous amount of jam, even after I set some aside for plum crumble. We’re going to be eating this all year.


Tobermory’s taken over breadmaker duties lately. He makes a good loaf of bread! This is helpful, admittedly largely as a delivery mechanism for more jam. I also make my own yoghurt, and tend to make plain unsweetened yoghurt and flavour it myself. I suspect plum jam is going to feature highly over the next few batches.


I bought a clock for the snug a few weekends ago. The inflatable one I’ve had since high school gave up the ghost at long last – the clock mechanism, not the inflatable bit, surprisingly enough – so I bought a round, equally bright yellow, clock to replace it.


I have not been allowed to throw away the box.




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NEWSFLASH – Candy and Tigra both sat on the couch with me last night. They were actually butt-to-butt, snuggling, beside me, and both purring. Astonishingly awesome.


I missed a ballroom class yesterday. I was absolutely shagged after work, and half-forgot and half-just-gave-up on it. I’m not enjoying ballroom the same way I enjoy some of my other classes; and it’s also quite hard to learn alongside zouk. Zouk is a lot more … flowing? The way you use the body is almost completely opposed to the careful way you should be moving for ballroom. And I’m not a good enough dancer to manage both. And I love zouk, so – zouk.


Also, I’ve inexplicably hurt my left foot. I was walking down the hallway on Sunday and my big toe joint just went “crack-pop” at me, which was a) quite painful b) somewhat sub-optimal for dancing c) quite painful. It’s mostly OK, but I do have to be careful not to tread too heavily on that joint.


I got the breadmaker out on Monday night. Lovely light wheatmeal bread – rose like a champ, hit the top of the breadmaker and sunk. The loaf is thus mostly square, but oh it’s delicious. Tobermory and I have eaten most of it – breakfast and lunch for two days isn’t bad going for a loaf, though.


Plus, cheap. Cheap + tasty = win. Next on my list: sweetcorn and capsicum bread, and/or “whatever looks interesting in the next Foodbox” vege loaf.




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Operation 2012 continues. I am unsubscribing from all the Daily Deal websites, and other assorted mailouts and junk that come through my inbox on a daily basis. Aside from anything else, that should reduce temptation to buy Random Unnecessary Shit That Clogs Up My House.


This is day nine of the eleven-day workweek, six days of which were spent out of town. It’s lovely coming home to husband cuddles, and super-affectionate Boomer in the Cone of Shame, and snuggly cuddly Candy and – for the first time in years – Tigra adopting the lapcat position. All three of them are locked indoors – it’s far easier to manage than trying to keep Captain Satellite Dish indoors on his own.


Turns out, he knows how to operate the latches on the cat flap. Tobermory realised this when he had to extract a stuck Cone of Shame with attached Boomer from the halfway-through-the-cat-flap-and-stuck position on Monday. Duct tape has solved that particular problem. We then had to shut the last couple of open windows in the house. Boomer worked out how to open the laundry door and shimmy out the laundry room window – and he knows how to stick his claws in the window screens and wiggle until they pop open. That cat is too damned smart.


Feline relations in the house seem pretty casual right now. Tigra and Candy haven’t been fighting, which is a pleasant change. Boomer is sleeping on the bed – which is fine, until 7kg of cat elects to take position on your pelvis for half an hour, and you wake up in agony as he tries to knead your hip joint into submission, or as I like to call it, dislocation. He’s a happy little buddy, Cone of Shame and all.


I’ve returned to zouk classes this week – or more accurately my teachers have resumed for the year. Toward the end of last year, I learned the move suicidio. In theory, anyway. In practice, I couldn’t get it right. Couldn’t lock my core in the right place, couldn’t balance correctly, fell out of the move onto my knees or wobbled in the middle and landed on my arse. Monday night? NAILED it. It was the BEST feeling.


I may have slightly overcommitted myself. Mondays, going forward, will be zumba and zouk (improvers/intermediate). Tuesdays, ballroom (which includes waltz, chacha, foxtrot, and rock’n'roll). Thursdays, salsa, which I’m now doing at intermediate level. Then there are social dances on Thursday nights, Sunday afternoons, and Sunday nights. Not that I go to all of them. Or possibly more accurately, not that I go to any of them, except on rare occasions. Still, I should. I love the social nights, when I do go, and the more I go, the more people I know, so the more dances I’ll get when I do go.


In June, there’s a holiday weekend, and a salsa congress in Wellington that I REALLY want to go to. It’ll cost me the better part of a grand – tickets, hotel, flights. Better start saving now, huh?




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I’m out of town this week – work. As such, Murphy, who is a cruel bastard, has ensured one of my boys is sick. Not Tobermory this time, but Boomer. Poor little bugger has been in a fight, or walked on something, and has an infected, leaky, foot. And yes, he’s been to the vet. Poor wee sausage.


I’m out of town as part of the deployment of a big project at work. The project manager is a wonderful woman, I think I want to be her when I grow up. Today, after the training sessions that I’m there to run, she (out of the blue!!) said “let’s go swimming!”


What the hell, right, why not. So we went to buy her a pair of togs – I’m an over prepared freak and bought mine with me – and bought towels.


Although I haven’t swum for five years – in fact it might be closer to six – I haven’t lost it. I wasn’t breaking speed records or anything, but I did a very creditable set of laps. I lost count somewhere after 20, and as it was a 33 meter pool, I’ve swum at least 600m. I doubt I hit the full kilometer, but I am, I feel justifiably, proud of myself.




Originally published at spinneretta

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Tigra has developed a new, and adorable, habit. She sits on the back of the couch – well, lies, and sacks out and sleeps – and insists on having a paw just touching my shoulder. Periodically she will gently knead, most of the time it just rests there, as though she’s reminding herself that I’m with her.



It really is adorable.


Operation 2012: laundry shelves restacked, after organisation of contents. One pillow case stuffed full of pilled and shitty sheets, pillowcases, etc, for disposal. Single room reorganised. Curtains re-hung in single room. Operation continues successfully!




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I started salsa again last night. It was SO GOOD to be back. I haven’t forgotten everything – teacher danced with me a couple of times, and I was able to follow without too many hiccups – and I was easily able to keep up with the class. Didn’t even get too exhausted, although I was sweating like a pig.


Zouk hasn’t started yet, but I’m really looking forward to it. And the dance studio is running a weekend bellydance class (a one-off), which I’m pondering. Why not, right?


AND, when I got home, I didn’t snack. Well, other than a slice of salami, but that doesn’t count. Particularly as my Tigracat nicked half.


I loved coming home this time. in 2010, we were cold-shouldered on our return home. This time, I went outside and called my girl, about half an hour after we pulled up the driveway. There was a frantic meow meow meow meow meow! from the neighbours’ section, followed by the appearance of my kitten running indoors as fast as she could. Tobes intercepted her – she’d come in the front door, couldn’t find me immediately and had a panic, while I was around the back of the house – and carried her to the living room, where I was coming in the sliding door. She flung herself out of his arms and into mine. She was so pleased to see me. Apparently she spent a lot of the time we were overseas out and about – she’s been quite a homebody since I came back. She sits in the snug with me and cuddles – usually on the back of the couch behind me. Then when she falls asleep and falls off the couch, I get the blame. Silly kitten.


Boomer rocked up from his feline adventures a few hours later. I heard crunching noises in the kitchen (of the nom nom kibble variety), stuck my head in the door, and was greeted with a very pleased chirrup. Picked him up for a cuddle, took him to the study, where he leapt out of my arms and into Tobermory’s. He was so happy to see his human.


Candy – yes, we’ve kept Candy, and thanks to a month’s worth of feline Prozac, interfeline relations are at a surprisingly reasonable level* – was pleased to see us, but she doesn’t have the same loyalty to Her Person that the other two do. She’s a sweet cat, and I love her, but… yeah, I have a favourite cat, and it’s not Little Miss Shouty. She’s got a lovely little affectionate purr, and she’s playful and cuddly, but… she’s just not My Girl.


We do still try to keep her in the bedroom at night, so that Boo and Tigra get some peace. She’s stopped picking fights the same way, but there are still some periods of friction. However, she’s learned how to open the door. Yes, we can latch it, but… well, last night went as follows:

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

LEAVE THE DOOR ALONE.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

“Shall we give up and open it for her?”

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

“Yeah.”

We’ll see how it goes…


Operation 2012 status: I cleaned out the upstairs freezer. Tobermory’s been telling me for ages that a) I’ve been blocking the air vents b) it’s not draining properly, because of the aforementioned blocked vents. Eventually, the fridge started growing snow, and I finally got sick of it Wednesday night. Emptied, wiped down, bowl of warm water to wipe the ice off with, butter knife for obstreperous chunks. Didn’t take all that long. Mystery food disposed of (trash day), freezer re stacked with due care for the vents, and it’s stopped making the “help me, I can’t freeze properly” noises.


* the other night, I found Tigra and Candy ON THE SAME COUCH. Sharing it! Both asleep!




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Cons:


  • prey, indoors or outdoors. Cleaning up bird skeletons before you mow the lawn is gross. the mouse incident.

  • Boomer shouting at 06:30 on a Sunday morning because he wants to be let into the bathroom to drink out of the sink go OUTSIDE there are LOTS OF THINGS TO DRINK OUT THERE plus a WATER BOWL IN THE KITCHEN gah

  • finding cat sitters and/or $$ for cattery. Fortunately at the moment we have Thaqui who is willing to care for the kitties when we are away. Hooray for Thaqui.

  • vet bills

  • fur, fur, fur, fur, fur, cat I just brushed you THIS MORNING where is all the excess coming from and HOW, you are only one cat and you still HAVE fur, WHERE IS IT COMING FROM (x3 in this house)

  • wee, poo, sick, litter trays. I cannot quite figure out where the culprit has pissed in our hallway and I am going to have to wash down all the walls, wash the curtains, spray with feliway and hope.


Pros:


  • cats sitting upon top of stairs when garage door noise occurs. Humans appear from garage and are greeted with “mrrrowp? prrrrrrtwww?”, aka “hooray! You are home!”

  • warm, snuggly, affectionate. Headbutts in the face at 3am not necessarily desirable, but they indicate “I love you. Can I get under the duvet please?” and are usually followed by loud purring, which can’t be beat.

  • being purred at on sight, even if it’s not mealtime.

  • picking up 7.2kgs of muscle and being purred at, kneaded, and smooched in the face, aka headbutted in the chin, by a loving Boomer.

  • Boomer’s insistence that the morning routine is incomplete until T has given him his morning kibble and petted Boo while he eats it.

  • Tigra’s chirrup when she wants to sit on the couch beside me and isn’t sure she’s welcome, the little mrrrrt!purrpurrpurr that she does when she hops up and carefully snuggles into my thigh. Knowing that if I gently pet her on the head she’ll roll over and expose her belly, with the soft soft soft fur, and wriggle in delight while I ruffle her bellyfurs the wrong way.

  • having conversations with Candy, human to querulous-old-lady-miaow, and in the nearly-a-year since she’s been with us, learning to say “MERRROW” and being greeted by MERROW and outrageous purr when you greet her

  • basically, because they love us back.


The three of them make my house home. I wouldn’t be without them, despite the days when you roar at them for being obnoxious little buggers. If I’m having a moan about something the cat’s done, Tobermory usually responds “… but they purr”. It was my stock response back in the early days, when non-cat-person Tobes was trying to understand WHY you’d have a cat, let alone the two and then three we now have, and honestly? “because they purr!” covers it for me.




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Candy appears to have decided that the best place to sleep is on me. It makes it rather hard to turn over when you have 3.5kgs of kitty snuggled in the shoulderblades. Feline integration project, revision three, going surprisingly well. Tigra sits outside the bedroom door quite regularly – if it’s opened, she’ll leap in the door, flail at Candy’s face, then wander in and steal her biscuits. Last weekend, Candy was having a walkabout – I heard thudda thudda thudda down the hall, in a fashion that suggested two cats were involved, and investigated. Boo had decided that Candy needed to be back in her room, and upon shepherding her down the hall, discovered she had kibble! She was sat under the bed, the picture of dejection, while buggerlugs cleaned out her bowl. Tigra and Candy have progressed to nose and bottom sniffs – and they both bounced down the hallway in “play” mode Wednesday night. Tails up, bouncing along. It was lovely to see.


Tobermory has been working some ridiculous hours lately. I’m taking the opportunity to eat things that he doesn’t like.


Last night, the result was something approaching paella. Fried up capsicum seeds, capsicum, and bloomed tumeric, chilli powder, and cumin in a bit of olive oil. Added cracked pepper, basil, lemongrass, oregano, and rosemary; threw in tomato paste, about 300g of precooked/frozen shrimp, and three (chopped) cheese chorizo sausages. Dropped in a couple of helpings of rice (was just feeding myself and Thaqui), filled the bowl that I’d nuke-thawed the chorizos in with water, applied that to the pan, and let it simmer down into something saucy and delightful.


Finally, finely chopped a bunch of – I think it was silverbeet? green leafy thing in the vege drawer, anyway, probably not spinach – and stirred that through, let it simmer down for another couple of minutes until it was wilted; applied to bowls, added forks, and wandered back to the study to play videogames.


About fifteen minutes, two helpings, no leftovers, and we had a tasty dinner. It’s funny how just about every country has a variation on fried rice.




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This is a new cat climber. It’s 76″, 193cm, tall.


No no, they’re not spoiled at all. Why do you ask?




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We took Candy on because her previous owner couldn’t find her a home. And we tried to integrate the cats. We tried, so hard. But Candy is a girl who wants to be Queen of All She Surveys. Boomer believes, with some reason, that as he’s 7 kilograms of muscle the position of undisputed king of the neighbourhood belongs to him. And so Candy gets grumpy/nervous/upset, and goes after my Tigra, who is a nervy scaredy skitterbutt, won’t fight back, and goes and hides and piddles in corners.


This is not a recipe for feline happiness.


We tried for four months to integrate them. Supervised visitation, supervised meetings, unsurpervised… we tried and tried and tried. Once it escalated to fur flying, and a cut on Tigra’s nose that didn’t heal for three weeks, we realised that enough was enough.


Candy lived in our bedroom for two months before I tried to introduce them again. Same dynamics resulted. However much I love Candy – and I do, she’s a delightful cat who I’d keep if I could – we had Boomer and Tigra first, and our loyalty has to be to them. So, Candy lives in our bedroom. It’s a warm sunny room, and she has plenty of affection and cuddles and games with us; but a bedroom really is not the best place to keep a cat forever. And as it creeps closer and closer to summer, it’s going to get horribly hot in there. We’ve got to find her a home.


She was an SPCA Special when her previous owner rescued her. She’d been surrendered to the SPCA by her original owners. Then S went overseas. I could, if I was desperate, surrender her to the SPCA again, but I don’t want to abandon her. She deserves better than that.


Kitty biography: Answers to Chicken as well as Candy. Knows her name, comes when called, more of an indoor cat than an explorer. She’s a bit shy, but when she gets to know you she is affectionate, playful, and loves nothing more than to be allowed to snuggle on (or in!) the bed with you. Comes with scratching post, litter box, litter, selection of foods, bowls, and an adorable selection of purrs, meows, and chirrupy noises. She’s a darling, and I’ll miss her, but she needs a home of her own.







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Signs this is a geeky household: birthday present = RAM and large HD for laptop, and pair of Sennheiser earbuds.


Signs this is an anachronistic household: I made kiwifruit chilli sauce, tamarillo toffee sauce, banana nut sauce, and spiced orange sauce this week. (And have four in a parcel to go down to Mum’s tomorrow.)


Signs this is winter: Tigra is sneezing. And she is ridiculously funny, because it’s “chuu!chuu!chuu!chuu!chuu!chuu!” sneezies, but still. Vet appointment required, poor wee sausage will not love me at all.




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Breakfast was about 13:30 today, and it was a ham/chicken/cheese filled roll.


I’d got up and put my plate on the coffee table, and wandered off to make a drink. When I walked back into the living room, Tigra was on the coffee table, carefully hooking the chicken out of my sandwich with an inquisitive little paw. Boomer was on the floor receiving stolen goods.


Boomer looked over at me with that expression all pet owners will know so well, the “what? me? no, I’m just sitting here!” Tigra looked up, leapt off the table (with chicken in her mouth) and hurriedly ate the evidence.


Busted!




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I missed these three while I was away.




Originally published at spinneretta.com
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Tobermory and I don’t really do valentines. The day was punctuated with work, the dishwasher breaking down, and me going to an (excellent) dance class. Ran into a coworker from OldJob, too, and had a catchup – he was waiting outside the studio for a friend, so I stopped and said hi.


And, in proof that romance isn’t dead and that the universe has a sense of humour? I woke up at 3am with a hand crawling over my face. Said hand patted around a bit, found my nose, then punched me square in the conk.

Me: “brzw..mrrr what the hell was that for??”

T (sleepily, mumbling, tones of great indignation): “What’s your problem? it’s not you I’m punching!”


I stared at the ceiling for a bit, while T snuggled down and went back to sleep, reflecting that it was probably only fair. After all, my sleep flailing has so far sent my poor husband to work with concussions twice that we know of, plus sundry other bruised areas where I’ve punched or kicked him*. And also giggling, because for some reason I cannot adequately explain, it was hilarious.


Tobes rolled back over after about five minutes. The hand came sneaking back out, but this time it just wanted to cuddle.


In other news, the feline integration project is going well. Both sets of cats have been allowed to sniff at each other through a cracked doorway to Candy’s room. Candy keeps trying to escape, so I thought I’d better alert all three parties to each other, in case of any successful Houdini-style maneuvers. Boo couldn’t have cared less, provided that the provision of chicken jerky treats continued; I’m not sure if it was Tigra or Candy who hissed when they eyeballed, but subsequent interactions have only involved cautious nose-sniffings. Tigra also keeps trying to play, via the fine old-fashioned art of stuffing a paw under the door and waggling it furiously.


I think this might actually work.


* This morning my nose was a bit bloody and Tobermory was both astonished and apologetic. I am still finding it immensely amusing.




Originally published at spinneretta.com
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This is Candy. She is about to become our third cat.


A friend adopted Candy a few years ago, but is in the position of having to move overseas – she can’t find an only-cat home for Candy, and while she was trying, I’d offered our place as a last resort. Well, it’s last-resort time! I’ve cat-sat for her before, and Candy is a real sweetie. She’s purry, likes to sit on laps, and has a delightfully engaging little mew.


So, on Sunday, Candy will be introduced to our spare room, and we will brace ourselves for explosions of upset kitties. Candy will be restricted to the spare room with supervised explores elsewhere, and I’ll give it a week or two before introducing the cats face to face. I am pondering the application of duct tape and gardening netting to the door, to allow the cats to chat to each other without being able to hit. I doubt that Boomer will care much – he’s a pretty laid-back kind of boy. Tigra’s the one I’m worried about, she’s a bundle of nerves at the best of times. On the other hand, Candy’s nickname is Chicken, so I don’t predict much aggressive behaviour from her either.


I also intend to manipulate the situation with Feliway dispensers – there’s a powerpoint right outside the spare room door, which I will plug a dispenser into. Hopefully I will be able to introduce Candy and retain our otherwise harmonious home…




Originally published at spinneretta.com
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I am sitting in the livingroom. Yesterday, the tail end of Cyclone Wilma blew through; today there is glorious sun. The house smells of the cleaner that I have used to mop up a puddle of cat wee, when Tigra elected not to go outdoors in yesterday’s rain, and not to use the cat box, either.


I hear “meee, meee meeee.” I call Tigra, as it’s her meow, and Tigra isn’t usually a talky cat. Usually it just means “I cannot find my human and I want her, where is my Mahal?”


“meee. Meeeee!”

“Tigra?”

“… meee. meeeeeeee mee?”


I get up, go into the courtyard. She is stranded, because she’s climbed up the trellis, gotten into the jasmine, and can’t work out how to get down. Silly pudden wants me to rescue her.


That’s the second time this week.




Originally published at spinneretta.com
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Yetibear!

Jan. 23rd, 2011 09:27 pm
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This rather confused looking yeti is what happens when an amateur seamstress combines a teddy bear pattern with a sheepskin. I’d never made a teddy before this weekend.


My fingers may never be the same again – sheepskin isn’t the easiest thing to sew, and I don’t sew all that often. But it was fun.


My grandmother, on Dad’s side, used to make teddybears. I have a lovely collection of bears she’s made for me – from standard furry bears, to an amazingly embroidered and beaded calico bear named Loppy. She’s found her hands too gnarled with arthritis to be able to sew bears now, but she still does Hardanger embroidery (I also have some lovely pieces that she’s made for me).




Originally published at spinneretta.com
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I had a dream last night. I’d been at the supermarket, and rescued a stray pig. One of those pot-bellied pigs that people keep as pets. It was quite a cute little pig, although it had sharp little hooves.


Whether this had more to do with Tobermory’s snoring, or the fact that Tigra was industriously attempting to treadle my foot into a different shape while purring enthusiastically at me, is anyone’s guess.




Originally published at spinneretta.com
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