Cat Boxing

I didn't touch the needles or the wheel today. The entire kitchen has been reorganized, and my back has gone out for the evening. I hope it doesn't drag itself in around ten tomorrow morning. I've got too much work to do. While I was abusing my back, I discovered this sweet sweater.


This sweater was mine when I was a little girl. My mother passed it on to me when I was pregnant with our son. I think it was knit by my grandmother. She was a wonderful knitter, until her hands became too arthritic. I have many baby sweaters that she made for me, but this is the only one that will work for my little boy. It must have been an early effort on her part. Normally, her sweaters are almost machine like in their perfection. This sweater has a lovely way about it. There's a funny bit of crochet between the sleeves and the body. The sleeves are extra long. The little cat is wearing a sleeveless jumper with mittens. I like to think of it as a boxing cat, but I'm pretty sure those are mittens. Who would wear mittens with a sleeveless jumper? A cat on a sweater, that's who. The kitty is all done in duplicate stitch. It's an impressive amount of embroidery, and she managed to convey a real sense of movement. I think that cat looks ready to take on a dog.





All of these silly little knitterly things combine to create an utterly charming piece of knitting. It makes me think about my own knitting foibles. I love for my finished pieces to have a polished look. They rarely do, but it's what I'm striving for.
The first sweater that I ever made was a gift for my grandmother. It was a very boxy jacket/cardigan thing, with a monstrous looking shawl collar, all in garter stitch. I knit it out of a bulky weight Noro yarn, in a lagoon like palette. The yarn was all wrong for the sweater, it might have been wrong for any sweater. The sweater was huge, with no way of closing the front. I think there must have been miles of fabric in the arm pits. It was the usual first sweater disaster. About a week ago my aunt wrote me to tell me that my grandmother wears that sweater every time she goes out for lunch. What love she must have for me. She's knit dozens of sweaters. She knows a bad sweater when she sees one. She's always been a very stylish woman...and yet she wears my sweater. And now, my son will wear her sweater. It's round two for the boxing kitty.