Progress on the quilt has been surprisingly steady. I say surprising, because it's a lot of work to hand stitch something this large, and because I am seldom ever alone. I work in sections, with a large wooden hoop that I can rest on my lap, with the quilt draping around my legs, onto the floor. Loose threads are everywhere, and even the thread I pull makes a distinct and beckoning sound as it is tugged through the fabrics... a sound that beckons cats. For Chango, it is an invitation to sit beside me, and he is also inclined to plop himself in the middle of my work. Benjamin is less invasive. He is content to be nearby without actually being a part of the activity. And then there is Mister Washburn Foo...
Washburn Foo, master of mischief, hears the pull and tug of the quilting thread and come bounding forth.
He loves the threads dangling from the fraying fabric edges, the birds in flight, the chance to meddle assist.
Sometimes, he comes in undetected, from the floor, up and under the hoop, where he waits for me to bring the needle through so he can help it along. It's so dark under there! But he has Foo Vision and sees all. I cannot continue sewing. He's scratching and clawing at every pulse and motion.
He crawls out from under to see why progress has come to a halt. What's happening? I thought we had something good here." And for good measure, he bites the safety pens.
Somehow, I have managed to quilt around all of the birds, some of the flowers, and around the checkerboard.
I still need to finish quilting the checkerboard itself, and the whole outer perimeter of the quilt.
It is perilous work.
Blood has been drawn.
And to add insult to injury, he insists on taking partial credit for the quilt's completion and artistically rendered claw marks.