It was the year 2000 […or 1999; I don’t really remember…], and my parents, Sister, and I were shopping at a touristy place not too far from our home. [Have you ever played tourist in your local area? It’s fun.] We came across a shop that sold quilts, and Mom and Dad decided that Sister and I needed one quilt each. I don’t really remember how the scenario played out, because I was 9 or 10 and not really caring about what Mom and Dad were saying. I was just browsing the shop, and then suddenly I was picking out a quilt.
For an entire year [or so], no matter how many times we cleaned that quilt, it smelled like the perfume of the shop. I loved it. Every time I went somewhere overnight, I’d take that quilt with me. It became, sort of, my new Blankie [Blankie is my baby afghan that a family member made for me before I was born. I used to carry him around like Linus carried his blanket in Peanuts. I still have Blankie.].
The quilt lasted until this year, when it finally started getting holes in the fabric, and tearing if I moved wrong. I knew that I’d have to make a decision concerning my quilt: keep using it until it completely disintegrated, or make a toy out of it.
Of course I did what any sensible person would do: I decided to make a toy out of my beloved quilt. And not just any toy, a cthulhu. Because I am sensible.
I spread out the quilt on the floor to evaluate where I’d start, when Moozka and Panther decided to help.
After that little distraction, I got to work. I cut out the middle of the blanket and was thinking of what to do next, when Buddy Boy decided to help.
[The dangers of crafting in an animal-filled house. I wouldn’t have it any other way.]
I did eventually get my cthulhu completed, and I only poked myself in the finger a couple times with the needle [I sew by hand]. So, without further ado …
Pause, for effect …
And now my quilt will live on forever, as a cthulhu.