Christmas is right around the corner so you can imagine what Ol' Peepers is up to. She's up to her elbows in yarn, she is. That's right, Peep #1 has been playin' with yarn. Sure, she calls it knittin' but we all know the truth. She's playin' with the stuff and what's more, she doesn't appear to be sharin', either. Every time I try to help, she refuses my assistance.
So I get a little slobber on the yarn. What's a little slobber amongst family and friends? MOUSES!
What's that, Peepers? You don't like knittin' whatever you're knittin' when all of a sudden you come across a section of the yarn that's all covered in slobber? What can I say, Peepers? Love me, love my slobber. Besides, we all know you're just playin' with that yarn, anyway.
Someone should tell the peep that it's not nice to hog all the toys. She ought to learn how to share.
Now before anyone gets their knickers all twisted, my peeps do know that allowin' cats to play with yarn, unsupervised, is a very dangerous practise. Cats can eat the yarn and it gets all tangled up in their intestines and whatnot and causes all sorts of problems that may require surgery and can, in fact, cause death. Peeps should never leave yarn lyin' about. Never. Not ever. Not under any circumstances.
But I don't wanna eat the yarn. I just want to play with it and I'm willin' to do it under the peep's supervision. I really just wanna slobber over the part of the yarn that's movin' on account of the peep's knittin'. Knittin'... playin'... whatever. Apparently, I'm not even allowed to do that. Like I said, the peep isn't sharin' her toys. She's a toy hog, for sure. MOUSES!
And speakin' of twisted knickers... I, of course, don't wear underwear on account of my bein' a cat so I have no knickers to twist.
As as a short-haired cat, my fur doesn't even resemble knickers but I can't say the same for Tess, Rushton and Anderson. Those long-haired fur-sibs of mine look like they're wearin' knickers, for sure. Knickers... bloomers... whatever. The fur on their back legs is all poofy and whatnot and sometimes, it even gets twisted. Yup, they can get the mats if they don't allow Peep #1 to comb 'em. Happens with long-haired cats, you see.
And Tess... What can I say 'bout my sister Tess? Tess, bein' Tess, gets her knickers twisted all the time. Sometimes with mats but mostly on account of her grumpy personality which surfaces whenever Peep #1 wants to comb her. Actually, the grumpiness doesn't really surface. It's pretty much there all the time. Just gets worse when the peep wants to comb her or somethin' like that. Peep loves her anyway, grumps and growls and all.
But I digress. Back to the yarn and the peep's inability to share her toys. MOUSES!
So Peep #1 has been doin' some knittin', gettin' ready for Christmas and whatnot. She does this sort of thing every year 'bout this time. Mainly, she makes things like nip mice on account of her part-time elfin' job for Santa. She knits up the mice and stuffs 'em with nip. Then Rudolf picks 'em up for transport to the North Pole where the elves wrap the nip mice so that Santa can deliver 'em back to us for Christmas. Yes, it's true. Santa Clause uses out-sourcing. MOUSES!
Seems like a lot of extra transportation and whatnot, if you ask me. I mean, those nip mice are made at my house but have to go all the way to the North Pole for repackaging before bein' brought back to me. But I guess if you're usin' flyin' reindeer who will fly for carrots and cookies, transportation costs are pretty cheap. At least, that's what I'm assuming.
Anywho... Peep #1 has been elfin'. Yup, she has been knittin' up the ol' nip mice. But then the other day, she started knittin' somethin' else. No way, no how, was this new thing gonna be a nip mouse. Far too big for your standard nip mouse plus, it was filled with holes. The peep says it's lace but let's be real here and call it what it is. I, Nerissa the Cat, am willin' to call a spade a spade and, in this case, call a hole a hole. The whole thing is covered in holes! She must have dropped some stitches or somethin'.
Yes, I know about stitches. I know all about how when a I jump on Peep #1's lap when she's playin' with her yarn, she tells me I'm makin' her drop her stitches. Better stitches than britches is all I've gotta say.
But back to the piece of knittin' with all the holes. Once cannot stuff a nip mouse with nip if said nip mouse is filled with holes on account of all the nip falling out of those holes. A nip mouse without any nip is simply a mouse. Simply a knitted. fake mouse with no nip. Not good. Not good at all. Not good for anythin' except, perhaps, sendin' the peep off on a reconnaissance mission to find all those lost stitches that fell through all those holes. Any nip that fell out, I'll take care of myself. MOUSES!
The peep says what she's kittin' is some kind of scarf or somethin'. Personally, I'm still goin' with failed nip mouse but whatever...
So the scarfy thing that's covered in holes was bein' worked on last night when suddenly, Peep #1 cried out, "MOUSES!" Yup, that's exactly what she said. She was havin' a mouses moment for sure.
Apparently, knitted into the butter yellow scarfy thing, was a strand of hair.
Now I should just point out that butter yellow yarn does not taste like butter. I know this to be fact 'cause I slobbered over a bit of said yarn when the peep wasn't lookin'. Had to do it. Had to be sure the peep wasn't playin' with butter.
But back to the scarf and the peep's cry of distress. Knitted into the scarfy thing, was a strand of long, brown hair. I immediately recognised the hair in question and said, "Way to go, Peepers. You're sheddin'."
Now truth be told, I have been known to get my fur on stuff around the house and some of that stuff has been Peep #1's knittin'. Every now and then, the peep will come across a sterling silver - some say platinum - hair that is clearly one of mine. What can I say? Love me, love my fur. I say it to the peeps, all the time.
But this particular hair that was knitted into the knittin' was not sterling silver like my fur. It was brown. Just plain ol' brown with a touch of gold. The colour was all wrong to be one of mine. Plus, it was way too long. It was even too long to belong to one of my long-haired sibs with the knickers.
Yes, this hair clearly belonged to my first peep. Colour and length were both a match. Obviously, Ol' Peepers here is sheddin'. Hope she doesn't shed too much 'cause let me tell you, the bald look would not be a good look on her, at all.
So the peep had to get out the teeny-tiny scissors and some tweezers and do some finicky kind of stuff to get rid of that ol' hair, knitted in with the yarn. Did you know that doin' delicate, finicky stuff like that causes peeps to use language unbecoming of peeps? Suffice it to say, it does.
I sat and watched the peep workin' with the tiny scissors and the tweezers. She was obviously in need of some supervision. I suggested that while she was at it, perhaps she could locate the missing stitches and patch up some of those holes so that the scarfy thing could, in fact, be used to hold nip. My suggestions were ignored.
I also made a point of pointing out that the hair causin' all the peep's troubles was not mine. No way, no how, was I was takin' the blame for this one. It's true, I might be partially responsible for the vacuum coughin' up a hairball or two but this particular hair came from the head of none other than the first peep.
Does undue stress cause peeps to shed? Hmmm... If so, I actually might be more responsible for the hair in question than originally thought....