Cat Mad Crochet

Estimated reading time: 5 minutes

We got another new cat! Welcome to Miss Chainsaw Carmilla!

If you work with natural animal fibers, you know moths. If you own clothing made of natural animal fibers, you know moths. If you have pets who shed a lot, you know moths. And the truth is every single one of us hates the bastards. They eat holes in our fine woolens, then they add insult to injury by glutting themselves on the pet hair lodged in some out of the way corner that we keep meaning to dust, but never get to. The monsters. They prey on our weaknesses and exploit them to destroy our stashes and our lovely handwork.

But their evil is darker and more horrible than we knew. My friends, they are armed.

The other day I was checking some glorious hanks of yarn in my stash for possible holes in their protective ziploc bags. I store the particular section of my stash in question in a pop-up, mesh laundry basket. I store it this way so I can see recent purchases and move them to hook more quickly. These yarns haven’t really settled fully into the stash yet. The idea behind their purchase is still fresh in my mind, so I won’t need to acquire a bunch of extra yarn to complete whatever new project has superseded whatever I originally bought the yarn for. See? There’s a plan. It’s isn’t successful, but there is a plan.

Anyway, Josephina has been attempting to use the laundry bin as a scratcher. I feared for my yarn, so I dumped it all out, felt sad about not having more time to crochet, and checked all the bags. The bags, barring one, were fine. I replaced that bag and checked the integrity of the mesh. Also fine. But what was that in the bottom of the basket? Cocoons? Near my yarn? Well, not for long. Those beasts were ripe for death my crushing.

I reached in and grabbed one, smooshing it firmly so death was quick. I can be merciful if I want to be. As he breathed (do they breathe?) his last, I felt a quick, sharp stab in my finger. I dropped his mangled carcass and checked my finger. There was a little red spot. Weird. Must have been something sharp there. Oh well. I got a tissue and disposed of both beasts with a burial in the sewer. They deserved it anyway.

I went on with my day, injured finger noted but of no concern.

That was Thursday of last week.

Throughout the weekend I kept thinking maybe I was crocheting too much. Where the hook rests on my finger, my finger is super tender. To my horror, it kept getting more tender was time went on. I downloaded a stupid game on my phone to distract me from not being able to crochet as much because my finger hurt. Dammit. This was not good. I have a bad relationship with phone games. I will play them to my detriment.

By Monday a little lump appeared in my finger. I made everyone in the house feel it. I worried that there was some sort of horrible moth evolution going on where now they hatched out like bot flies. It would be so like moths, though, wouldn’t it? Always there for the next horrible thing. I complained about it enough that Dave googled it. He said I might have a moth cremaster stuck in my finger.

Do not go down this rabbit hole. I’m kidding. There’s not a lot to google there. I don’t think many people have cremasters stuck in their fingers. Lucky me.

Biology lesson time. If I have to know, you have to know. The cremaster is a little hook that caterpillars have on their butts to help attach themselves to things because of course they do. Super awesome. Now I might have some moth butt-bit stuck in my finger. I do not need this. I could not find a picture of a clothing moth cremaster, specifically, to share with you, but the cremasters from other moths look quite horrible.

Anyway, it hurt enough by Tuesday night that I was whining about it. I do that. I’m a whiner. I was a very whiny child. With perimenopause, it’s becoming more prevalent. Dave tried to remove the offending butt-bit by scraping some of the skin around the hard spot (now a weird, pale cream-colored spot) away to no avail. Partly that was because of me complaining about how much it hurt. People, it hurts! Partly that was because I am squeamish as well as whiny. Anyway, I repeatedly stuck my finger on the mug of tea I made myself as a comfort. That helped. The heat not only made the hard spot smaller, it also made the pain less. I had a second cup of tea just to stick my poor, hurt finger on it.

More googling has indicated that I could have a granuloma that formed around the cremaster. Now it’s not just a tender spot. No, of course not. Now it’s an appointment with the dermatologist to see if it is a granuloma and then some sort of procedure to have it removed. This damn moth has cost me a copay and possible crochet time while the wound from having its butt-bit removed heals. This is beyond enough. I have entire had it with moths.

They were bad enough when they were eating my things. Now, when all I tried to do was murder them in their beds, they have plunged a bit of themselves under my skin to torment me. You know what? It’s not going to stop me. I’m going to kill more of them. I’m just going to stop picking them up with my bare hands to do it.

The audacity of moths knows no bounds.

Be careful out there, people. Nature really is red in tooth and claw and cremaster, too.