Why DO I Have Felines?

The Culprits!



Lola - Don't be charmed by her cute face.
















Smokey... big man of the house

And these cuties - Napoleon and Ireland...brats, all of 'em!

I love cats. They’re beautiful, sleek, they purr, and they’re independent, like me. I love all animals but cats fit my busy lifestyle much better than a dog, although I’ve had a few.

Having cats as a beader though, is pure insanity. IN-sanity.

When I first started beading my oldest cat, Smokey, would jump on my lap and lay down while I beaded. Only problem is, he weighs 15 lbs. It was like beading around a boulder. To make matters worse, my big Siamese Napoleon, LOVES Smokey, more than he loves me even. If Smokey was laying on my lap, yes, Napoleon also wanted to lay on my lap. With Smokey. Two for the price of one.

Beading means you bend forward a lot or you bend back and forth a lot. 20+ pounds of cat makes this impossible to do. Why did I LET them get on my lap? Because I love cats. Pay attention please. One is okay. But if Napoleon tried to get on my lap I was too busy trying to keep my beads from being swept away and the thread from getting tangled to stop him. I actually beaded around those two for a while until I lost all feeling in my legs. Plus, I bead beside of a window and it can get cold in the winter. Nothing like real fur and fat to keep you warm.

Then Ireland stepped in. Ireland is Napoleon’s little sister. She only weighs five or six pounds and she chased the men off for the prime spot. Makes it easier right? WRONG! Ireland likes to a) knead my legs with her sharp little claws for 30 minutes before she lays down which results in her being placed on the floor every 15 seconds of those 30 minutes; b) Once she lays down she immediately begins cleaning herself for 30 minutes. Every 15 seconds of those 30 minutes I have to de-tangle my thread from her ears, her mouth, and her claws.

I had one good beading cat... Jack-Jack. He didn’t weigh 15 lbs., closer to five. The other cats didn’t try to chase him off. He didn’t care how many beads I dropped in his fur or how often my thread brushed his nose, mainly because he was very ill. He had a chronic condition for which there isn’t a cure and passed away on Sunday very peacefully. RIP Jack-Jack.

Ireland is laying in the cabinet on my desk, perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of fear because she dumped my beads yesterday. She and her sister, Lola, (Yes I have a lot of cats, be glad I don’t have as many kids!) started fussing yesterday evening for the 2.5 seconds I stepped away from my desk. Normally, I place my beads in a cubbyhole but since I was just stepping away for a moment, I didn’t. The howling, hissing, and caterwauling brought me running. I let out a string of cuss words that would have made my Mama faint. The other cats scattered, Nate (my son) hid under the bed, the neighbors drew their shades, and there sat Ireland in the cabinet, calmly cleaning herself.

Size 15s, everywhere. Thread missing. Needle dangling from the chair. When I huffed and puffed about the mess and the loss of beads and where is my new *&^*(&$# thread, I swear she raised a feline eyebrow.

It’s a wonder I get anything done.