(There has been literal swabbing of the carpets. Blame the cat for that one.)
We also be running out of yarn, spun from the finest wool from the colonies. We won't be producing any more until we unpack ye olde spinning wheel.
(More on this shawl later; the poor quality picture is entirely on purpose. (for once))
Some monstrous creature be eatin' me blocked swatches, so my new sweater must wait until laundry day be come and gone again'. Jaunty new socks may console my peg leg, though, for a time.
(I swear there must be a land of misfit swatches right next door to the land of misfit pens. I'm offering a reward to anyone who patches the wormhole in my apartment.)
An' if ye black-hearted scalliwags mutiny, it's down to the watery depths with ye!
(Kitty is actually taking a bath, if you look closely. I think he's defective. Aren't cats supposed to hate water?)
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