Kittens are Punks, Part I

I preface this by saying first, it’s my own damn fault.  Do keep that in mind as we go along.  But, with that in the back of your mind, I posit that kittens are punks.

The other day, I was doing something in the basement.  I have no idea what at this point.  Laundry is most likely, but I don’t actually think that was it.  Whatever it was, I happened to remember that I had some boxes of easter eggs down there.  Now if you know me, this is really rather surprising.  I don’t celebrate easter.  I don’t decorate for holidays.  It seems odd that I would have boxes (plural) of easter eggs.  But you see, in my youth and childhood, I lived overseas.  The family would often go off to eastern Europe over spring break.  One of the things that tended to follow us home were easter eggs.  Mine have, doubtless to my mother’s chagrin, been sitting in my basement as long as I’ve had this house.

There they would have stayed, safe in dusty repose, had I not realized that a few of them were lovely examples of crochet.  Now when I got these things I couldn’t have told you the difference between knit and crochet.  But I’ve since expanded my horizons, and I wanted to see if I could see how they were done.  To tell the truth, I thought I’d grab a picture and turn it into a blog post.  Cheating perhaps, but coming up with something to tell you guys about every day or two is a surprisingly big job.  I don’t knit fast, so I’m not above using the knitting (or in this case crochet) of others.  So, here they are, pretty lacy crocheted eggs.  I like the pink one best.  Scintillating, no?  No.

But you’ll note no kittens and no punk-like behavior have yet made an appearance in this tale.  That comes next.  Instead of putting the eggs safely away, I just set them in their dish on the shelf above the desk.  Those of you with kittens will know how this next part goes.  The kittens never go on that shelf.  The kittens showed no interest in the eggs.  They sat there for a few days (I’m lazy, you’re welcome to come clean for me if it bothers you too much).  Then one evening, The Boy and I were sitting at the dinner table, and we looked into the kitchen.  Douglas the wonder punk was playing with something.  This is pretty normal, he’s 9 months old, he’s made of springs and silly putty and is unable to sit still unless he’s asleep.  He’s always playing with something.  But neither of us recognize the toy.  This is usually a bad sign.  We investigated.

Yeah.  That’s the punk part.  We explained to him that this was not a shining example of kitten virtue and suggested he go find another toy.  Promptly.

But do not lose hope.  I have a plan.  I don’t actually like the red egg.  I think what I’ll do is blow a brown egg, snip that single thread that holds the top bit of lace onto the bottom part, put the new egg in, and stitch it back together.  It seems like a solid plan, right?  I don’t see any reason why this shouldn’t work, but I’ll report back.  And then, you know, tuck it back up safely in the basement eventually to be found a home with someone who does decorate for easter.

Anyone out there ever decorate eggs with crochet?  It looks like a fairly low-commitment place to start.