The silence within the room lengthened. Outside, however, could still be heard the infuriating sound of the laundromat’s dryers, rhythmically whining their horrid metallic row.
“Nano-particles ..” she said.
The cat curled tightly between her knees on the recliner chair ignored this pronouncement and merely wrapped his tail more securely around himself. He was used to such utterances and had learned never to be surprised.
She’d just finished re-crocheting all the acrylic yarn already used once this-morning and was making (again) the back of a sweater, this time ten stitches wider than the one she’d been working on for some hours, so the concept was relevant: acrylic yarn is full of ’em.
“I might actually have some real wool !” she told the cat, guiltily; “remember that cardigan I started to knit ? – it’s in the hallway drawers ..” and she put the huge acrylic yarn cake onto the side table, together with the crocheted piece, failing to see that the thread was caught around one of the cat’s back feet. At the same time as she rose she gently pushed him off her lap and, too late !, saw the problem.
It was a shitfight. The enormous yarn cake went flying and she stupidly tried to catch it, not wanting to have to untangle the equivalent of eight balls of yarn; her forward leap meant that the flap of the recliner didn’t shut but opened up and caught the back of her shins punishingly. With loud imprecations she was flung at the couch on the other side of the little room and grabbed at it to stop her fall, managing only to yank all the cushions off and onto her head as she hit the floor.
The cat, meanwhile, had leaped frantically sideways out of her path and onto his climbing tree, knocking it over so that it fell behind her – fitting neatly between her slippers and the open recliner. He landed on her bum, claws out for support, then leaped off and raced for cover in the bedroom: he had a feeling she was not going to be happy ..
She lay there for a bit, shaken by the act of falling. Tons of stuff around for her to heave herself up by. The dryers just went on grinding out their hideous song from below.
“So,” she said to no-one, “what’s my take on THAT ?!”
A couple of seconds of thought, and then she heaved herself up, shedding cushions and kicking the cat-tree away.
Happily she was only bruised if you didn’t count the claw-marks on her arse. Unhappily the acrylic yarn cake was spread everywhere.
“Easy,” she finished: “forget being eco-minded.”