Cookie naps in the afternoon on the old wool afghan on my bed, my old cat on the old afghan in the stark winter light.
The cool light from the window washes the color from the scene, but Cookie, at 18, enjoys her long afternoon snooze on the warm afghan, though even her bright orange is subdued in the winter light.
The afghan is older too, made by my mother many years ago from scraps of wool yarn in the familiar church window granny square pattern: four rows of color surrounded by black, which makes the colors seem even more brilliant.
But while I had my mother’s things in storage after I sold her house the storage unit flooded, and the afghan was unfortunately in a bag near the floor and was just wet enough for just long enough for the colors to soften, fade, and blend together. The happy bright colors I remembered as a child were muted by the black yarn fading into the colored yarns.
But the afghan itself was still warm and soft and I like its new look, so I rinsed it and dried it in the sun and continue to use it. Cats love crocheted things, and wool crocheted things are immediate cat beds. Cookie was the first back on the bed today, but the others joined her eventually. There isn’t much I love more than simply seeing my cats curled up in happy little balls in a warm, comfortable place.