I came downstairs the other day, and put on my big bulky loose grey cardigan sweater. I love this sweater, even though it's fraying and completely shapeless. It has magical qualities of warmth and coziness. I think it's impossible to be cold while wearing it.
A couple of minutes after putting it on, I felt something gently poking my shoulder. And moving around. I could see my sweater moving around on my shoulder.
I shrieked, tore it off me, and leapt across the room away from it. There was a mouse in my sweater! It was small and brown and actually pretty cute, if it hadn't been in such a completely inappropriate place at 8 am when I already had a migraine, for God's sake. It was dragging one of its legs uselessly, and I felt bad because I didn't know whether I had injured it flinging my sweater off or whether one of the cats had done it bringing it into the house in the first place.
Speaking of which, the cats were pretty useless. I didn't actually want carnage in my living room first thing in the morning (any more carnage, I mean. I had already disposed of a disembodied, mutilated mole head we found on the carpet), but I did think they should have done something a bit more helpful than sniff curiously while I got the dustpan and chucked the poor thing outside.
M.M. was a bit freaked, from my shrieking and flailing and hurling knitted goods about the place. She cried some; I felt bad about that too.
[Incidently, I recently heard on the Grammar Girl podcast (yes, that's how dorky I am. Wanna make something of it?) that it is incorrect to say 'I felt badly'. Apparently the guilts I've gotten all these years over 'I feel bad' have been unwarranted. How embarrassing.]
Oh yeah, and there's a mitt completed. The quality of the photography is terrible, and I apologize for the cat hair on the cushion under the mitt, but here at least is proof that I knitted it. Sort of, at least. I realized after getting it all ready that this is not a picture of the completed mitt. This was taken before I did the thumb. Oh well, use your imagination again. The second one is underway, ribbing on the cuff finished and nascent thumb gusset materializing slowly.