Yikes! Has it really been 6 months??

Or, my explanation for doing what I swore I would never do!

Yes, I have been, um, not really lazy, exactly.  Maybe just occupied?  Maybe that's an excuse a reason for this horribly long time between blog posts?

You see, my life got really complicated and took a few unexpected twists and turns.  Life does that to you sometimes, usually when you're not expecting it.  Mine involved re-thinking my money earning needs/requests/desires to include a steady paycheck, not just a paycheck that appeared out of the blue sometimes.  And to do that, I had to go back to school.  Not school, school, like a second BA or an MA or some other form of learning that involves time and effort and $$.  No, more like learning a skill.  That is marketable.  To someone else in the workplace.  It was a tough decision and took my Libra brain several years to decide.

(Hint:  if you have friends born between late September to mid October, and I'm sure you do, ask them to make a decision.  Then pour yourself a cup of coffee.  Then start working on a long-neglected project.  By the time you've brewed your second pot of coffee and finished your project, your friend will have made a decision.)

So I made mine, and it involved night classes once a week, and maxing out our credit card, but as soon as I made the decision to enroll in these classes, the money was there, the time was there, and I began to relax a little bit.  Then I started my classes.

Then I began to learn stuff.  And the stuff started to stick.  And it began to make sense, and I remembered when I had used this stuff both as a business owner and on some temp assignments.  For example, when I went to trade shows, I'd ask myself questions like: "Should I buy this yarn for the shop?  What does it cost per skein?  Will my customer base buy it?  Do my competitors have it?" - these are examples of something called a SWOT Analysis!  Holy cow!  Who knew I was doing it right after all?!

And I learned that the people in my class were smart, had been in this industry for years, some had to re-certify themselves and others were certifying themselves for the first time.  Oh, yeah, and they knew everybody out there.  Which proved very helpful when I had to reach out and network for a job hunt.  I found that I was in a group, an industry, that fit with myself, and had Rolodexes that were almost as large as my old shop's mailing list.

But it also meant that for 12 weeks, my weekends and evenings were spent with books and highlighters and pens, or on-line, or reading and re-reading sections and reviewing notes.  I know just about every coffee shop within a 10 mile radius of my home.  And many of them are independent coffee shops and that made me very, very happy.

And I found a new job in my industry a couple of weeks ago.  Actually, a recruiter found it for me, as I stink at finding companies to work for and these recruiters are pros at it.  They have Rolodexes larger than my old shop's mailing list!  It's a good company with good folks, the work is steady and will continue to grow, and I'm enjoying what I do.

And my stitching world has continued to expand.  I finished a Percentage Sweater (thank you dear G!) using a cable pattern from Barbara Walker for the front and the arms, and that I finished by St. Patrick's Day, and that Webmaster Bill was able to wear throughout this cool spring:

Webmaster Bill, striking a Captain Morgan pose

I also got involved with the Atlanta Knitting Guild's Halo's of Hope project in tandem with Stitches South.  I used some kids' hats patterns in the blues and greens that fit with an Under the Sea theme and that also had a wavy brim to look like waves:

Green hat, wave-y brim

 

Kitties helping with blue hat.  Kitten is Peppercorn, regal cat is Penelope Lane, 

called "Penny" for short.  Both are rescues. 

 

A little hat made of fun blue yarn

And there was The Mountain, with its several projects.  I did bring a sock, but it involved some thinking while I transitioned into the weekend that is The Mountain:

Knitting this sock, entitled "Mizar," reinforces why I like socks to be on the simple side:  the detail on the back of this sock (also on the front, all the way down to the toe) involves slipping very tiny stitches made with very tiny yarn in front of or in back of each other.  As with other cable patterns, once you know the pattern the project goes quicker (though is not as exciting because you've learned it), but you can relax.  A little.

And a cardigan that I've always envisioned for an office setting.  If you work in the South, you know that offices are very many degrees cooler than is comfortable for a normal human being.  Perfect inside temperature for a suit coat; an arm covering of some sort is needed for the rest of us.  This cardigan is also a Percentage Sweater cardigan (fortunately, The Sweater Workshop has instructions on cardigans, too) and is going to have a single button at the top as its button.  Which I bought this spring at Stitches South and it is going to be stunning.  No picture of the button yet, but here's the sweater nearing completion (and a good thing too - I bought the yarn in 2010!)

I figure the ongoing knitting projects will end in a month or so, as summer has taken a while to get here and there are a couple of stitching projects I want to pick up.  One is a needlepoint of some irises that I just need to finish the top of:

 

Currently, this entire piece is stitched and only the top remains to finish.  Yippee!

and one is a Hardanger piece on which a pretty ring box sits.  I haven't done Hardanger in a while, so it will involve reviewing past notes and reading the directions carefully!  Pics when available.

Have a great summer, everyone, and more blogging more regularly!

My Fairy Will be Getting Her Wings

. . . just not this year.

You see, when I picked up this blog posting idea to keep everyone up to date on the beauty of my Mirabilia fairy's wings, I thought this would be the perfect time to finish her.  While stitching with metallic thread is the bane of any stitcher's life, once I got the hang of stitching the outlines from dark to light, then mindlessly stitching the inside with white and metallic, why not set this as a goal for the year?  Why not end the year with a completed large piece of cross stitch?

Ah, the joy of finally having her finished and stitched, every single little stitch.  Every one.  I have weekends more or less free, and I have a magnifier I use when I stitch her with my contacts in.  Why not decide that now, finally, I can finish her and not hoard her as only a stitcher can?

Well, the answer is somewhat simple.  First there was the section of wing where I had to thread the needle 2-3 times each row.  Seriously.  And it was not the metallic that was giving the trouble - it was the white cotton thread.  Which is understandable if you think about how white is bleached and then bleached some more, it is perhaps a little less durable and a bit more persnickety.

So that's one excuse.  That was along about September, when these pictures were taken:

These are the outlines of the wings taken around the 4th of July.

This is the part that requires counting and caffeine; the filling-in part, 

not so much.

 

This is that same section filled in right after Labor Day weekend.  

I also extended the LH section up a little bit.

This wing is coming along nicely.

So yes, given all this progress from July to September, the future looked promising.  The fairly looked like she would become complete in a few months of dedicated work, Christmas knitting notwithstanding.

Then I took our lovely new cat, Penelope Lane to the vet for her annual shots.  A bit delayed, I admit, but underemployment will wreck havoc on one's income.  Here she is looking all regal and beautiful:

Penelope Lane surveys her kingdom

Wouldn't you know . . . I happened to mention to our vet as I had to a small circle of friends that we were ready to think about getting a kitten, one to replace our old cat, Cerridwen.  She had passed in July, and I'm very grateful we had another cat to help make our home not quite so empty of cat-ness.

And what did our very kind vet do when I mentioned this new openness in our hearts?

Why, she happened to mention a tiny kitten that they were fostering there, that's what she did! 

And she went even further by bringing said tiny, little, all-black kitten into the examining room and laying him in my hand.  Yes, he was that small.  He was found wandering along a busy street and some kind soul stopped his car (it was a guy), noticed that his leg seemed to be broken, and brought him into our vet because he worked in the area.  This tiny little kitten still had these great big stitches in his teeny tiny leg from the leg pin surgery.

He was so tiny!!!  And he just looked about him like he wasn't sure what the world was all about, and could someone help him, please??

I didn't adopt him there on the spot.  I did turn into a pile of mush there in front of the vet and her technician, and I asked if our names could be added to the list.  Our timing was such that our names were at the top.

So Webmaster Bill and I talked some more, talked to a few trusted friends, thought about some kittens who were comfortably ensconced in a barn and in no danger of busy streets, saw a couple more foster kittens, and then decided that this little stray black kitten was the one for us. 

The vet and her technician agreed.

Of course they would!

And so in mid-October we brought home our new little Peppercorn.  We thought of several names, including Odysseus (husband of Penelope), Othello (too tragic), and Orpheus, the musician who descended into the underworld to retrieve his beloved (also tragic, and hard to say his name).

It's been a while since we've had a kitten.  A long while.  Which says something about our cat-owning tendencies and also about our age.  Playful photos are below:

Lots and lots of kitten energy.  Lots.  And he loves to lie in my lap and chase after bright shiny things. So can you imagine the havoc he would wreck on the bright shiny dangly threads that create a fairy's wings??  Sure, I knew you could.  And so, I'm sure, could the vet.

All this to say, like the popular Irish folk song "Why Paddy Won't be at Work Today (it's the one about the fellow who goes to the job site, loads up the bucket to bring himself to the top, then unloads the bucket and he goes plummeting to the ground; MythBusters did a segment on it years ago), the subtitle of this posting might just very well be:  "Why Fairy Won't get her Wings this Year."  The bell signalling her wings is most certainly waiting till next year, till kitty time becomes cat time and no little black kitten will be tempted to play with bright, shiny threads.

Except there is nothing like a teeny little kitten to provide endless hours of fun and amusement for all concerned, and I'm enjoying every moment I have with a teeny tiny little black kitten:

Fairness and The Rules

Let me first apologize for the lengthy time in between posts.  Obviously my life has been in a bit of upheaval primarily with the whole job-search thing and interviews and let-downs and several-day-at-a-time postings.  Which have been great for the adventurer in my blood but the non-standard work schedule has played havoc with my discipline to sit down and blog on weekends.  Or during the week; seems that I prefer on my off days to upload merchandise to my website from my storage unit.  Which is looking fabulous, by the way!  I finally finished adding all of the Kreinik threads (quite simple once I created a "system" to count these sparkly threads in all of their Blending Filament or Braid manifestations) and most of the Mill Hill beads in house.  Which meant unpacking a great big huge box that contained the Mill Hill bead hangers with all of their beads mostly still hanging, freeing up an incredible amount of room in my little storage unit.

But I digress.

Just to be clear, this is not a post about needlework.  I like to intersperse my entries on needlework and geeking out on stitching with things that are more about, well, my views on life in general.  And I can already hear a couple of folks out there chuckling:  "Fairness?  Life isn't about fairness!"  To which I reply:  "You're right.  Freddie Mercury is dead and Mick Jagger is still alive.  Who had the better voice, I ask you?  And who looked better in dancer's tights??"

No, this post is about sports.  Yes, sports.  2012 has been an interesting year in sports, hasn't it?  Especially since September.  The referees in the NFL went on strike and stupid things started happening.  I remember the year when the umpires for MLB went on strike, or almost; seems that the closer the calendar got to Opening Day, the more willing the MLB umps were to negotiate their hitherto unfair contract.  Not so the NFL's referees.  Nope, not them.  If the NFL was going to start its season, well then, by golly, these professionals would still hold out for a better deal.  Let the calls fall where they may.

And they did.  I won't remind all of you of the bad calls, probably because NFL fans will know them better than I will.  There was this attitude of "It's not fair to us, the refs, what our contract says, and we don't care enough about the game we're supposed to be officiating cuz, well, our terms aren't good enough."

But then came this call on September 24, and more than the fans were outraged:  the sportscasters, the players, the owners, the managers, the viewers at home . . . you get the picture.  And I'm sure you remember the picture:  the bright green Packers uniformed player holding a ball, a Seahawks player grabbing at the ball, one replacement ref throwing up his hands for a touchdown, and the other waving his hands in an "interference" call.

To quote from the rules of the game as mentioned in Rosenthal's article (linked above):

Rule 8, Section 1, Article 3, Item 5 of the NFL rulebook discusses a simultaneous catch.

"If a pass is caught simultaneously by two eligible opponents, and both retain it, the ball belongs to the passers. It is not a simultaneous catch if a player gains control first and an opponent subsequently gains joint control," the rule states.

The rulebook also states when a simultaneous catch is ruled, you can't review who made the catch. You can only review if it was complete or incomplete.

Jennings gained control first. That should have ended the game.

So here was a perfect example of a rule that SHOULD have been followed but was not.  It turns out that the bungled call replacement ref had not even been certified/approved/promoted to Division 1 calling (meaning NFL play calling).  But because some official somewhere decided to keep the bungled call on the books, the call stood and the rule as outlined in the NFL playbook was ignored.  Fairness?  Definitely not.  A good example of following the rules when they are in dispute?  Nope.

Personally, I groaned with the others watching this ridiculous excuse for a call and then chuckled as negotiations happened almost overnight between the NFL and its refs.  Maybe now fairness can mesh a little better with the rules?  Maybe now trained refs can call to mind the playbook and follow the rules as they are outlined?  Let's hope so.

Then a little less than 2 weeks later something happened between rules and fairness that sent me on a curveball spin at 102 MPH.

If you know baseball, and have followed the Braves at all this season, you'll know that this was Chipper Jones' final season.  Ever.  He was a great slugger and contributed a lot to the Braves organization, and stayed with the Braves even when he could have negotiated his contract to sign with another team.  He showed loyalty to the team and, most especially, to the fans.  Something Smoltz and Glavine and Maddux did for most of their careers.

But this is about Chipper and rules.  And misapplied rules and fairness.

You see, baseball has a long history and a lot of rules.  There are some that are applied often (like, you can't strike out after strike 2 on a series of foul balls, no matter how many foul balls you hit while you're at bat, unless one of the opposing players catches one).  It seems like an unfair rule, unless you're the team whose hitter keeps hitting foul balls and then lands himself on base, finally.  The Braves did a lot of these hits in the early 90's.  Lots.

No, the rule in question was the oft-neglected, seldom-used infield fly rule.  And its use in the Wild Card game on October 5 was incredibly controversial.  It is explained well in this article written the morning after the night before.  Webmaster Bill and I had gone down to a local pub to watch the game, and we were psyched.  It was the Cardinals, granted, and our Braves were down, but we were the "Come from Behind Braves" since way back, and it was the game that was going to determine who was going to advance to post-game play:  the Braves or the Cardinals.  And it was Chipper Jones' possible last game.  At home.

So what happened?  Any Atlanta fan will tell you:  there were runners on 2nd and 3rd, we had 1 out, and a darn good chance to win this game and advance to post-season glory.   The batter hit a fly ball, the shortstop went back and back and back, then the left fielder yelled it was his, then the ball just dropped onto the ground.  Between them.  And rather than declare that the runners could advance, the umpire decided to invoke the seldom-used infield fly rule:

"An infield fly is a fair fly ball [not including a line drive nor an attempted bunt] which can be caught by an infielder with ordinary effort, when first and second, or first, second and third bases are occupied, before two are out," says Rule 2.00 in the definition of terms. "The pitcher, catcher and any outfielder who stations himself in the infield on the play shall be considered infielders for the purpose of this rule."

Really?  Really??  Did anyone see how fast and how far into the outfield the shortstop (an infielder) ran?  Was that an ordinary "stationing himself" kind of run?  Really?

It was the reverse of the NFL bungled call:  an obscure rule, not an ordinary rule, was applied at a critical and inappropriate time of the game.  And what would have been gracious fairness, letting the ball drop where it was and charging an error on, say, the left fielder who was calling the shortstop off it, was ignored.  Which made this crucial game Chipper Jones' last.  Which was so dreadfully unfair to the game of baseball that the head spins.  It was the equivalent of David Justice's run towards home during the playoffs in 1991 when he rounded 3rd base and (maybe) touched the bag, but the shortstop (!) saw him stumble at 3rd, so his arrival at home plate did not count as a run.  The replays showed a puff of dust coming off the bag from his foot hitting it.  Or the botched Perfect Game call against the Detroit Tigers pitcher Galaragga in 2010 (which is why I'm rooting for the Tigers in this year's World Series, although Sandoval's 3 Home Runs in the 1st game puts him in a very small group with Babe Ruth, Reggie Jackson, and Andre Pujols which makes me a happy person), the game where the umpire called the runner at 1st base safe and when he realized his error, he called up and with tears in his voice asked that the call be changed to runner out at 1st to give that pitcher a Perfect Game.

But no.  No, because some official somewhere needs to officiate something and show his authority by ruling in an unpopular fashion, neither the Tigers' Perfect Game (the 3rd Perfect Game that season and the 21st in all of baseball) nor the random and inappropriate infield fly rule stayed.  For no good reason.  And Chipper's last game and 19-year career ended with disgrace and infamy.  And controversy.  And no umpire had the least regard for the game or for the fans or for a single player, only for his own perfection in calls.  Except there was no perfection in this call.

Or in the NFL ref's call.

Only an error in judgement and a refusal to admit when you're wrong.

That is neither the rules nor fairness.  It's bad sportsmanship, and all responsible for holding these wrongs where they are should be shamed for the rest of their professional careers.  It's the least the Universe can do to restore some fairness in the world.  It's desperately needed.

Pretty Sparkly Wings

Oh those pretty sparkly wings.  On my lovely fairy.  They will be glorious when they are finished.

In case you had forgotten, here is said fairy before I started (really started, that is) on her wings:

Fairy before her wings

All that blue fabric, hidden behind the pattern and going up and up above her head, all of that fabric will soon be covered in pretty, sparkly, metallic thread.  All of it.  Beads, too, but that's another post.

It's a lot of stitching.  A lot.  I try not to look at all that empty fabric, because I know what it all means:  I have to stitch her wings with metallic thread before she is finished.  And my goal is to finish her this year.

Have I mentioned how much I dislike stitching with metallic thread??

It's pretty.  It's sparkly.  And it's a bear to deal with.

You see, it unravels.  It's sparkly because there is a light metallic stitchable thing wound around a light-as-air thread filament.  And yes, you read that right, it's wound around.  There are more recent metallic threads where the filament is braided with the metallic, making the thread less difficult to stitch with.  But that's not where we are.

We are with an earlier design, mid-90's, when designers who were extremely good artists were combining the two talents (not always possible, I might add) and creating works of art.  Many of these works were fairies and angels and they had wide, swooping gowns and wings and lovely faces.  Not to mention the exquisite fantasy characters of myth and lore:  castles and dragons and griffins and unicorns.  All of these designers made extensive use of then-available embellishments:  metallic thread, beads, and new colors of linen fabric.

So that's the backstory.  The designers designed, the stitchers stitched, the stitchers complained, and the thread companies came up with better threads, and the designers designed with metallic threads.  But many of the older designs, and still many of the new ones, call for regular embroidery thread combined with metallic thread, because they give the finished work a look that is unparalleled and will be worth it when all the stitching and grousing is finished.  Combining regular embroidery thread and metallic thread allows for shading and depth for three-dimensional effect on a two-dimensional fabric.

In the meantime, I am spending many weekend mornings being vewy, vewy careful with my stitching.  I make sure that I thread my twin-pointed needle in several steps, and I am grateful that I heard the manufacturer recommend this step to shopowners years ago:  first, you thread the needle with metallic thread using a needle threader.  Then, you tie with a once-over knot the two strands of metallic and filament together in the eye of the needle, as though they were one thread (they are).  You do this at the outset of using that piece of metallic thread because the metallic and the filament are still well-molded together.  Doing this loose knot prevents fraying and unravelling of the metallic thread.  Finally, you thread the same twin-pointed needle with the regular embroidery thread (one strand).

I also insist on using a piece of metallic thread that is as long as the piece of cotton thread that I usually use.  I do not hold with the "stitch with smaller pieces" theory of stitching:  it wastes more thread because you are beginning and ending more often, and it cuts into your stitching time because you are spending most of your time beginning and ending your threads.  It may sell more threads, but it may not because eventually the stitcher will wake up and realize that the theorists are taking up her valuable time.

Once your needle is threaded, you take a deep breath, tune into the Car Guys or relaxing music or a favorite book on tape and begin to stitch.  And you relax.  Because just as you've hit your stride, the knot will come undone or the filament will begin to come apart and you'll need to start the whole process over again, sometimes at the beginning of your thread and sometimes halfway through and sometimes when you're almost finished with that thread or that section.  It's all very random.  And while the intention of all of these little bits is not to aggravate the relaxed stitcher, that can be its unintended consequence.

Once you take another sip of coffee or your favorite adult beverage, or get up for a break to switch out your CD's, you will take a look at the stitching with metallic you've done in that session and in previous sessions, and gasp with wonder at the effect all of your hard work has accomplished on your linen.  Because this is what you will see:

Fairy with wings begun

 
You will see three different shades of thread, all combined with the same shade of metallic thread, creating an upswoop of wings that look completely ephemeral.  Absolutely gossamer, with sparkles and shimmers randomly catching the light.  The shading is difficult, because you're using 3 shades of the same color family (DMC 451, 452, and 453 for stitching geeks) with one strand of a copper-y metallic thread.  The DMC thread is a greyish mauvey grey, and the metallic makes all the colors at first bleary-eyed glance all run together.  But then, I take a sip of my coffee, laugh at the Car Guys, and look very carefully at the swoops of slightly darker threads, and realize where I am in my pattern.  I take a look at where I left my needle the weekend before, and I get out my laying tool and begin to stitch that's day's section.

The fill-in is simple:  I combine white with the copper-y metallic and just sit back and stitch.  As of this posting, the white on the large wing section is complete, I've started on the inner white section (nearer her hair), and it will shortly be time to start outlining more sections of her wings.  I'm continually planning where I will go next.  Onto blank fabric.  This is an exercise that almost needs its own blog post . . .

Enjoy the sparkle, brought to you by thread and pattern designers who are constantly pushing the boundaries of what it means to stitch.  I'm very grateful to them.

Goodbye, Sweet Little Black Cat

Yes, I'm afraid it's another one of those sad posts:  we lost our little black cat named Cerridwen earlier this month.  And because these posts are so hard to write, and because you had had to read about our earlier kitty death from December, I had a hard time expressing how to put this entry into words.

So I'll start with pictures.  Remember, Cerridwen was named after the Welsh Goddess of the Cauldron, Cerridwen, because she was black.  Completely, utterly, black.  Even to the tip of her little kitty nose.  And it can be difficult to take pictures of a black cat because, well, they're black.  Here are some pictures of her in her earlier, healthier days.

Cerridwen, seemingly disinterested

 

Fierce Kitty.  Truly.  Fierce.

And if you look very, very closely, you can see her little, tiny, black kitty nose.  I don't know what she was defending us from (or if she was just choosing to look a little bored with it all), but there must have been shmoos around.  Somewhere.  Or maybe the humans would bring out one of her favorite games, Feather.

 

And she loved to chase after bits of light.  Seriously.  When we opened the door in the morning to go to work, she would inevitably be in one chair, and the light would reflect from the panes of glass in the side door and go moving around the room as quickly as we moved the door.  She looooved this game.  She could never quite bite Light like she could Feather, but she was fascinated by how light moved.  I've never seen another cat who had this fascination.  We also hung one of those crystals in another room, to catch the wintertime sun, because it would rotate around and put colorful light bits in the living room.  And Cerridwen would run after these bits of light and was fascinated when they simply disappeared behind a couch or under a chair, only to emerge in another place soon.

 

She was a rescue.  Really, truly a rescue.  A construction boss-man brought a cardboard box full of 4 week (or so) old kittens and declared "Ah'm tahred of these heah kittens runnin' around under mah house.  If'n one of y'all don't take them home I'm a-dumpin' them in the river."  In the middle of a hot Georgia summer.  Fortunately, there was a kind-hearted worker who took the box and moved it around the site to the nearest patch of shade till the day's work was ended.

 

He took the box home to his girlfriend, they nursed the kittens for a week or so, and then I don't remember if we read about it in a weekly local newspaper or if some friends told us about it (I think it was the former), but we called them the week after another cat of ours had died (busy street) and we brought home Cerridwen and her "sister" Boudicca that same day.  Boudicca was several months old by this time, but Cerridwen was just a teeny tiny kitten who loved the kitten formula she had been fed on for a week.  Loved, loved, loved it.  She eventually weaned off of formula and then loved kitty kibbles.  Not canned food, not tuna fish, but boring old dry kitty kibbles.

 

And she loved to sing.  She didn't meow, she sang.  Up and down the hallway in the evenings, she would walk and sing.  I sometimes wondered if she was afraid, or missed her kitty mother, or just loved to sing.  

 

And she was an amazing cat.  She had a lung problem at about the age of two, but I refused to put a cat on Prednizone for the rest of her life, and the problem pretty much cleared up on its own.  There were a few years when times were tight and she didn't have her physical checkup, but she was fine.   In fact, she was so fine that the vet, at about the time these pictures were taken, suggested that maybe I should limit her food intake.  Like, she (the vet) was worried about kitty diabetes.  Having a couple of older animals by this point who needed daily meds, I took the vet's advice seriously.

 

She became the cat who slept at our feet every night, who stuck her head in my mouth when I yawned, who always loved to bat at the plastic container that held her food every morning.  She'd jump up onto her stool that led to the kitty feeding stand and politely wait for me to get my cup of coffee before I fed her and other cats in the morning.  Boudicca really never got along with her, but she loved Grendel and would play on the cat stand with him in the evenings:  Grendel on the bottom, Cerridwen perched on the top (where all the catnip was) and they would just bat at each other through the openings.  And she loved Dave the Dog and would lick his ears and rub under his belly.  He never quite knew what to do about it.

 

Dave had his very own bed right next to ours, and there were evenings when she would be lying there (and invisible to low light) and Dave would look at us to say "There's a cat on my bed!"  She just blinked and said, "So?"

 

When time came for me to take pictures on the floor of the living room (where the light is best) for Ravelry postings or for merchandise for my website, she joined right in.  Here are those pictures:

 

 

 These are some hand-painted wooden needle holders

that she found rolled along the wooden floor and

made a nice noise while doing so.

 

These are yarns and a partially-completed panel of an 

Orenburg (Russian) lace shawl that I am working on.

Perilous is the only word I can think of to accurately

describe my feelings when I took these pictures.

Perilous and comical.

 

As I said, taking pictures of black cats is not the easiest thing in the world.  And really, it is hard to see a kitty face until one is up close and personal.

So time progressed, Grendel died, Dave died, Boudicca died, and suddenly Cerridwen was all alone in the house.  She was the only animal for two humans, and the night that Boudicca died she sang a lament in the hallway for several minutes.  She couldn't understand why her "sister" was not hopping up to the pillow on my head as was her wont.  Cerridwen didn't seem to be lonely.  She didn't mope, she gave equal affection to Webmaster Bill and to me, and her eating habits didn't change.  We brought home our newest addition, Penelope Lane, in late January, thinking that some company would be good for her.  And that we should have another cat in the house to take some of the "only cat" burden off of Cerridwen.  She was only 10 pounds, after all.

Cerridwen was beginning to make the transition to having another cat in the house, was learning that humans were there in case there was stalking, that laps were still there, that there were now 2 litterboxes in the house, and then I think everything changed.  I think, I really think, that she missed her pack.  We found some health complications in mid-March thanks to an ultrasound, so I kept a close eye on her.  Fortunately for her situation, I have not really been working outside of the house since mid-April, so I've been able to keep an eye on her.

 

She turned 16 at the end of May, and I think that her longing for her pack of animals coincided with her body aging.  And she became very skinny very quickly, she began throwing up food and liquid, and finally she became so dehydrated that a blood sample was barely possible.  Her options became hospitalization, serious meds, or letting her go.  And she was so listless (and so lonely), that taking her to the vet's for that one final visit seemed like the most humane thing to do.  So we did.  And I had a good cry the next morning when her stool for her feeding stand was empty and there was no kitty to bat at her plastic food holder.

Grief is a healing process, and a long process, and not an easy process.  Sometimes I see her playing with her friends on the mythical "Rainbow Bridge" and I am overjoyed that she is so happy.  Sometimes I wonder if I had had a job whether we could have afforded hospital care and she'd still be happy and strong.  And sometimes I'm just glad that I knew such a sweet, funny, playful, intuitive cat, and I am grateful that we rescued her 16 summers ago and she had a good, long, fun life that, for us humans, ends all too soon.

Rest well and play with your friends, sweet cat.  I hope to see you again someday.