Monday, August 1, 2011
The little cat was here in the store on Saturday, until I remembered the folly of allowing a kitten in a weaving workshop.
My new rosepath scarf warp in 16/2 softest Swedish cotton, charcoal gray and the color of a luna moth, was clawed and tangled even more as I tried to extract him, and the 36 claws he might possess.
(I haven't been able to get a good count of the toes yet, but there may be as many as 9 on each paw).
Meanwhile, customers arrived, children, parents, grandparents, campers from the campground across the street, two of my cat-craziest customer-neighbors (you know who you are). The air was conditioned (very cool) and the kitten was frisky. No one was in a hurry to leave.
Since he isn't named yet, I soon had a list of kitten name suggestions, and people advocating for their favorite. Jasper, Chester, Felix, Smoky, Hector, Goober, Tootsie, Thumper, Killer, and Stanley. Several people strongly favored Tootsie. I like Iko, not sure why. But so far it seems to come down to Big Foot, the obvious name. Kitten enjoyed all the attention, and I felt my ominous black-cloud thoughts lifting, refreshed in the company of good-hearted people.