The Yuletide season is a time for thinking of those who are less fortunate. And, in the spirit of this philanthropy, Louis Catorze has decided to offer his Château to another living creature as a warm refuge on these cold winter nights.
Despite Catorze’s best efforts to sabotage my knitting, I managed to complete one scarf of the set of two and I have now begun the second. However, I came downstairs yesterday morning to discover this:
Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs, this is snail juice. AN ACTUAL SNAIL HAS SLITHERED ON MY WOOL. And you won’t be surprised to learn who was responsible for bringing the snail into Le Château. I can’t prove that it was him, but I know it (which is starting to become a very common refrain when it comes to crimes of the Catorze kind).
Now, I realise that I should probably have put away my knitting. However, in my defence, of all the catastrophes that could befall unput-away knitting, I don’t think any reasonable person could have foreseen this. Had Catorze trashed the scarf and trailed wool all around the place and out through the Sureflap, yes, I would have taken full responsibility for not learning my lesson from the first time. But this? COME ON.
Before the “Maybe It Wasn’t Him” brigade start piping up, trust me, it was him. The little sod is very well known for having all manner of wildlife hitch a ride on his fur when he comes in from outdoors, and he really is so slow that the slowest animal on earth could slither up to him and climb aboard. The fact that the snail juice is only on the wool, with no trail leading up to it, is highly indicative of said snail having been brought in and deposited there – as opposed to coming in of its own accord – and, somehow, scooped away again. Unless snails can switch on/off their juice at will?
The lack of trails also means there are no clues whatsoever as to where the snail may now be. So it’s highly likely that we will find its gross mess elsewhere at some stage. This is not good.
Anyway, I am now having to cut off the snail-juiced parts of the wool and attach on a clean part of the ball. This isn’t great because, as most crafters know, the fewer knots that are in a piece of work, the better. And I now have even less time than I had before, to complete a task that was already on a very tight deadline. But, if my maths serve me correctly, if I manage to knit 852 rows an hour between now and the 25th, I might just about make it.
Here is our mutual friend – all charged up from having climbed into a box of tissue paper at 2am that same day and thrashed around like a shark attack victim – giving his usual number of hoots, which is none:
If you fancy some more gastropod-related fun and games, please see below: