AN: The following events occurred a few years ago, was recorded in writing about a year after and is only being published now ... for your enjoyment :)
I owned a ball of yarn. Teal. It was made of a soft silk. Somehow, after being used and unused, this ball developed an identity crisis and formed many knots. So many knots that it no longer made sense and lost its original shape; twas' no more a sphere, nor a geoid, but merely a confusing blob. These knots are no friend to the knitter and are surely uncomfortable for the yarn as well. However, magnification of any textile sample reveals that it is constructed of highly organized knots.
Every place that I have ever lived, I made sure that my vast collection of yarn came with me, one way or another. Other skeins confidently maintained their identity, neatly wound up. This particular ball of yarn was very sensitive and was predisposed to becoming even more deformed. Any sudden movement could result in further entanglement. My own life was already so tangled for far too long. I had little energy for most things. For a very long time I did not want to take on the task of untangling the yarn.
”Today, I will untangle this ball of yarn,” I said to myself. It must be done in one go, too risky to do it any other way. I researched different techniques to wind yarn without fancy tools. A simple pencil became my sole equipment and my cat, my assistant.
It was still daylight out and I cleared the floor. The living room floor, the kitchen floor, and the hallway in between. There are a few stages to untangling; unravelling, laying out, and then winding up again. One must discourage spontaneous felting by ensuring that loose strands of yarn never touch. If done incorrectly, it is a disaster.
I carefully untangled and walked here and there in the house, laying the strands a safe distance away from one another. Soon enough, I was INSIDE the ball of yarn and surrounded by a complicated three dimensional map made by spies. I do not know where it led. The space that this project required grew larger and larger, and yet never ceased to amaze me. Within the hour my home was practically uninhabitable.
Right before I was going to begin the next and final stage of winding, my sweet black cat, Holly, appeared. Of course, she wanted to play with all of this yarn. As a new cat parent, I did not foresee this dilemma, but from her perspective, this was a very well thought out birthday present. Perhaps she was happily watching all along and waiting until her present was ready? But sadly, my hard work could not go to waste. Not sure how she would react, I firmly but politely told her to not touch the yarn, "... even though I know that you want to more than anything." I then begged, repeatedly. Using my English words and sentences, I communicated to her that she is ONLY permitted to walk near the yarn but not play with it. I then resorted to body language and held up my hands repeatedly with the universal gesture for “STOP” accompanied by an expression in my eyes saying “Please, Holly - pretty, pretty please” as I described all of this to her.
There was a brief pause. I held my breath.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
She stood up and sat still.
Pause.
Pause.
Somehow, she understood. She might have even nodded, we had formed an understanding.
I tied the end of the yarn to a pencil and began to wind. I now had the difficult task of simultaneously and carefully watching the yarn wrap around the pencil, keeping the rows neat, while keeping my other eye on Holly. She sniffed at the yarn as it skittled across the floor, like a small mouse, but no more. Watching with intrigue, but a fair deal of caution, she would follow me and the yarn, but not grab it.
The young skein began to take shape and went from a neat line of rows to the beginnings of an imperfect globe. “I have become a human sewing machine!” I stated out loud, and then realized that can sum up the act of knitting in general. I felt great pride for all of the years that I have committed to knitting, even though I just produced about 3 projects that I truly take pride in. All intricate scarves, two of them for dear friends of mine.
My excitement was building and building and the fear of failure that follows me wherever I go was melting away. I was almost done and it looked half decent. This skein could be the model on the front cover of Knitting Weekly. “I did it!!”
Done. Untangled. Relief.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my special little gal. She was sitting in her favourite spot and calmly watching. Her seemingly expressionless face, her eyes floating among fluffy black fur and piercing my heart with their warmth. We met at the Toronto Humane Society less than a year ago. I wanted a cat for nearly my whole life. That’s a lot of pressure to put on one individual. Her fur sometimes reminds me of the depths of the universe, or a forest; her eyes, the moon. Black fur actually consists of different shades of brown and gray and sometimes reflects the colors around it.
I appreciate how she always sleeps in bed with me and almost never wakes me up. She is a gentle soul and has since shown respect towards plants, an injured bird, crystals scattered on a table, and all of my clothes. Her younger sister is learning but has shown great improvement in these areas. Holly makes a specific type of meow if she wants me to let her out on the patio but she will come running back the moment that I tap on the glass door with my finger. In my books, its an awful lot to ask of a cat to NOT play with the longest moving string of yarn ever. It's wired in them and mimicked by her favourite toys, but Holly understood and nodded to me. She is an amazing friend.