my whole heart

"Can you make me a hamster Gramma?" she asked, her voice so hopeful.

Requests from Grandchildren are sort of like relay races and the passing of the baton.

Here they come, their eyes bright with hope.

Their arms are stretched out towards you for all they're worth.

Your eyes lock.

You feel the weighty responsibility of trust.

You seize their request with determination.

And off you sprint.

It is up to you now.

You MUST not fail.

The finish line is THERE, just ahead.

You hurl yourself onward.

Abandoning the idea of a crocheted hamster,
I don't crochet,

or a knitted one so sweet,
don't really knit either,

or a felted one,

or a pom pom one...

Wait, a pom pom one!

That could be it!

I didn't have yarn because I neither knit nor crochet but maybe I could GET yarn.

I donned a mask and ventured to a Dollar Store.

I was as socially distant as I could be, standing afar.

Inside at last, I bought the only ball that could remotely be considered hamster-ish.

Smugly clutching a ball of thick and fluffy brown, rust, tan, beige yarn, I hastened home and whipped up a pom pom.

It promptly disintegrated.

Who knew some fluffy yarns are made with fibre threaded onto a center strand.

My hamster would have shed, and molted and been as mangy as can be in no time at all.

The finish line wavered briefly.

Felt!!

There is always felt!

When all else fails, sew.

I rounded the last curve and made a dash for it with my whole heart.