Sheepie Ponders

So I'm sitting around all afternoon re-knitting that stupid hat that I started last weekend.  You know the one I mean: the project I thought might be a nice, simple pattern and which I could complete quickly in order that I might actually produce something of a knitted nature to show on this, my knitting blog.  Yeah...that one.

I was mightily bored what with doing all the same stuff I already did exactly one week ago and it was becoming rather difficult to not let the mind wander to dark places.  You kind of can't help it when you are taking a do-over on something that should not have required the use of a "do-over pass" in the first place.  Basically, the whole train of thought goes something like this:

Great.  It seems that I cannot read.  Even simple things in plain English are beyond my ability.  I also cannot count.  How did I ever make it out of high school, let alone attain both undergraduate and graduate degrees?  My only skill must be high level "faking it."  In addition, it appears that I am delusional and in need of medication because I can distinctly recall several times during the first attempt at this hat where I thought myself capable of knitting repairs which would prove challenging to even the good knitters, let alone someone of my limited skills.  I have issues.  Big, serious issues.  The kind that require the intervention of several specialists and which probably won't be covered by my insurance...

You don't want to go there.  It is a slippery slope.  That's the train of thought that is only ridden by those who wish to spend their days wearing black and writing angst-filled poetry that doesn't even rhyme.  You need a diversion and you need it fast.

I could have started thinking about how much I hate my downstairs neighbors right now because the renovations they are doing to their unit are loud and involve the use of many hammers.  However, that seemed like another dark path and one I really don't feel I have the right to travel at the moment.  I woke up this morning to find that one or both of the resident felines had somehow managed to topple the tower fan in the living room during the night and I can only imagine how loud that must have sounded to those who live beneath me.  Best to just lie low and not attract any attention until everyone can forget about that little incident.

So then I got to thinking about a comment that Cursing Mama made the other day.  She'd just finished viewing the latest photo of the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty who was lounging about in all his glory and doing some pondering of his own regarding the lack of foodstuffs in his bowl.  She said that she couldn't help but wonder just how such a fine fellow could possibly have ended up as a stray in a shelter.  

I wonder about that myself.  

I mean, we're not talking about one of those hissing, spitting clawing-type cats who spurns the advances of all humans.  He is, by no means, a lap cat, but he does love company and craves petting.  He seems to think people in general are pretty neat-o and is really quite a social creature.  He could have easily lived in most homes, although I guess he might not be quite as kid-friendly as some might like.

In fact, he really did strike me as someone who'd lived the domestic life.  His abject horror at the sight of the vacuum cleaner seemed proof of that.  I didn't even need to turn it on.  He simply knew what it was and began hissing.  Of course, he could have been introduced to that particular piece of housekeeping equipment at the shelter, but I'm not sure that this is the case.  At any rate, he just seemed awfully savvy regarding the pace of life in a private residence.

I sometimes think he just got lost.  He was somewhere around a year old when I was first introduced to him and must have been out there for a while given the amount of matting he was experiencing when he arrived at the shelter.  With only minimal brushing, he doesn't seem to have that problem now.  He had not yet been neutered but that doesn't necessarily mean anything regarding life before the streets or how long he was out there.  

It's a mystery.  I guess you just never know how these things happen or if this was what someone intended for this cat.  I've tried asking him, but he just wants to talk about food these days so the whole conversation ends up feeling really one-sided to me.  I guess this is simply one of those things that I'll be left to ponder and for which I will never get honest answers.  I suppose I wasn't meant to know everything.  I only know this:

The view from my knitting spot is much more entertaining these days.

SA