How is it that The Imp, sound asleep on the back of a chair in the living room, instantly knows when I get ready to change the sheets on my bed so she can "help" by posing charmingly between layers of sheets and blankets? Is there some secret cat alarm that goes off when I shake out a sheet? And how can a cat go from being a compact round furry ball to an extremely long snake-like thing? She just came thundering into the living room with those hard feet and raced the circumference. I believe she is having a spell of post-shit euphoria.

The fibre-related task today wasn't stash fondling but carding the spotted fleece. As mentioned before I have separated the all white and the all not-white-but-not-quite-black and am left with a large amount of somewhere-in-the-middle grey wool. I carded 2 batts of it today setting aside the really light grey bits to do separately. This fleece has a staple length of 4-5" and is extremely fine and getting it off the carder is a battle. In case you don't believe that I really have a spotted fleece, here's a lock and the batts. Pardon the mess but I'm sure there are other people out there whose dining room tables are covered in software documentation, chainsaw oil, and wool.
<