I often hear scratch sounds outside my window, I do espy nails against the glass...to me they remain meows and blurred paws; they will not transform into voices nor feet that can stomp in my space or walk along with me or even take a different path with dignity.
I knit a sweater, sometimes in one shade, sometimes in different colours. I have taken time over it, there is a reason for it...and I know not all will like it. What I do know are cats, gender immaterial. They will pull at it until they have got a ball of wool to run after.
They play with it, but for how long? Often, their little legs get caught in the tangle they have made of it...and then they try to extricate themselves, with louder meows. If they come out of it, or are helped out, they either scratch whatever surface they can find or they fall in a little heap of regret and start purring.
I still have patterns to knit. There will be another sweater. It is a beautiful afternoon and am ready for a ...catnap.
I curl up with the thought of having created and of being able to create again. And again. Wool is not so easily destroyed. I reach out and feel the furry threads.