I was out of town and off-line for 24 hours. I was concerned that I might have trouble with this. Strangely, no. I was home for at least an hour before I turned it on, and I turned it off again really, really soon. Because, bad.

So Daughter, in her role as Guardian of the Sanity of the One with the Driver’s License, suggested googling for Cats. Or Yarn. Or Cats and Yarn.

Score. “Cats and Yarn; the agony and the ecstasy.”

* The Chenille Incident (1998) The fiber: Five skeins of Crystal Palace Cotton Chenille wound neatly into balls and left on my kitchen table. The fallout: I come home from work and discover two dead-tired cats asleep in my 800-square-foot apartment now aggressively decorated with 1,000 yards of chenille. Yarn is in the kitchen, the bedroom, under the chairs, wound around the toilet and in the tub.

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