In Search of Frankie Pincushion

A while back, I made myself a chicken pincushion, which I named Frankie after my favorite rooster who passed away last year:

Frankie (the real chicken) was also black and white with a big red comb. He was the most gentle chicken you might ever imagine meeting. He would sleep in my lap, let me tug on his wattles and give him “chicken kisses” on the beak. And he loved being scratched on the back of his neck. And he came when you called him. He was so cool. There will never be another chicken like Frank.

But I digress…

Quilting with cats can be interesting, to say the least. They always seem to have an opinion about which fabric you should use, and heaven forbid you make a mistake, because they’ll just stare at you, and you know exactly what they’re thinking.

So I’ve moved most of my quilting stuff into the bedroom, and I did some quilting today (much to the cat’s delight, because you know she needed something to criticize), and then made dinner for my son and myself. When I came back, Frankie Pincushion was gone. I was a little worried, because 1) he’s full of pins, and 2) he’s special. So I frantically looked all over the bedroom, under the bed, in my wardrobe, in the bathroom cabinets, and could not find him. You see, I have one cat who got fixed while she was in heat, and I guess that’s a bad idea, because ever since then she steals stuffed animals and hides them (thinking they’re her babies). Just when I had about given up, I found Frankie Pincushion stuck behind my quilting desk next to the wall. Whew. Disaster averted once again. All in a day’s quilting.

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