Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often baffling wisdom, has procured a "PegLoom." From what I can gather, it's a small wooden rectangle with plastic teeth, designed to trap perfectly good string. It comes with cotton warp string and, more importantly, 100% wool yarn. The entire endeavor seems to be an exercise in turning superior-quality napping and playing materials into a lumpy, useless coaster. The human seems to think this is a "fun activity," but I see it as a tragic misuse of resources. While the promise of premium wool yarn is almost enough to make me twitch a whisker in interest, the prospect of watching it be slowly and methodically imprisoned on a tiny wooden rack seems like a colossal waste of my valuable supervision time.
Key Features
- The award-winning Harrisville Designs peg loom offers tapestry weaving for beginners
- Youngsters can learn real tapestry weaving for projects measuring up to 5.5" X 9"
- Includes hardwood 7" X 10" Loom with nylon pegs, cotton warp string, 100% wool yarn, plastic needle and instructions
- Preserves the New Hampshire tradition of handmade textiles produced exclusively in the USA
- Suitable for ages 6 and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The contraption arrived in a cardboard box, which was, as always, the most promising part of the delivery. I had barely settled in for a preliminary nap upon its corrugated surface when my human unceremoniously evicted me to reveal the contents. It was a wooden frame, studded with dull nylon pegs. I gave it a cursory sniff, registered the faint, uninteresting scent of wood and disappointment, and turned my back on it. Another piece of human nonsense, destined to gather dust in a corner. I was wrong. Later that evening, the human sat down with the frame and began to dress it. They stretched cotton strings vertically across the pegs, creating a taut, miniature harp. My ears swiveled. The strings hummed with a low, tempting thrum whenever my human's clumsy fingers brushed against them. Then came the main event: a bundle of luscious, colorful wool yarn. The scent hit me from across the room—rich, earthy, and wild. They took a clumsy plastic needle and began to slowly, painstakingly weave the wool through the cotton harp. It was a tedious, agonizing process to witness. A vibrant, beautiful serpent of wool, being methodically suffocated. I watched for what felt like an eternity from my velvet throne, my tail-tip flicking with a mixture of pity and predatory intent. The human was creating... a block. A flat, lifeless block of color. They had no vision, no passion. When they finally stood up to fetch more of their foul-smelling bean water, I saw my opportunity. This was not an act of destruction; it was a rescue mission. An artistic intervention. I leaped from the chair, a silent gray shadow descending upon the sad little project. A single, well-placed claw was all it took to liberate the first strand of wool. Ah, the glorious release! I did not merely tangle the yarn; I sculpted it. I batted, I bunny-kicked, I wove a chaotic new pattern that spoke of midnight hunts and the fierce joy of a full food bowl. I incorporated a bit of my own soft, gray fur for texture and authenticity. When the human returned, they let out a small, choked gasp. They saw a mess. I, the true artist, saw what it was always meant to be: a masterpiece. This "loom," I've decided, is not a toy. It is a canvas, and it is worthy, but only when placed in the paws of a true master.
