Knitting with Lennon

"She got out my favorite toy!"

I have a plaque my brother gave me for my Birthday one year when my kids were little. It says:

Cleaning house while your kids are growing 

is like shoveling the sidewalk while it's still snowing. 

It's a cute plaque. 

Now, instead of real toddlers preventing anything productive from being accomplished, I have Watson. He is a Toddler Terror in a Feline Body.

Wait for it...

Lennon isn't a Toddler Terror.  Lennon is just a cat. He's my only cat that knows he's a cat, actually . He doesn't think he's a person and call for certain family members by name, he isn't obsessed with any of us, he doesn't pee standing up, & he doesn't meow back when I scold him.

He's such a cat that he's cliche.

He loves when I knit.

But not for the yarn.

For the needles.

Nom nom nom nom

...there it is. Turbo speed.

"You almost got away, you
naughty needle, but I got you now!"

"Maybe this ridiculous face will make
you surrender, blue needle."

"The face didn't work.
Back to grabbing."

"Will you fit up my nostril?"

Death stare + claws =
Lennon's serious

 

So darn cute.

Someone tell this cat he's supposed to
chase the yarn, not the needles,
please.

I'm going to write a new plaque:

Knitting while the cat is next to you 

is like drying off while you're still in the pool.