Worn out slippers and etc.

"Wearing things out" is not a common occurrence for me.  I have formally "retired" many articles of clothes that are perfectly fine, unwearable on the principle that I will not wear what I wore during middle school.  But rarely ever is even a sock of mine worn through.

That said, I hardly expected to wear my felted slippers out, but I...I did.  Quite literally.

These slippers I made many years ago, early on in college.  I had been knitting for some years, but I took ownership of my knitting during that time, making it a more academic interest.  I learned to snub knitting with man-made fibers, and I narrowed my yarn selection to wool; the old illusion of cheap knitting was tossed out the window.  I purchased a book of felted wool projects, knit a pair of perfectly fitted slippers (albeit awfully chosen colors), and stepped over into the realm of knitting craftsmanship.

Was that five or six or seven years ago now?  And at last I have worn these slippers through.

A few weeks ago, I visited my sister and brother-in-law.  Among many other things, I had the opportunity to become acquainted with the third installment of their household:  sweet little Gus.  Being the third friendly kitty of theirs, as well as being white and fluffy like a bunny, you can imagine that a part of Gus traveled home with me.

And by that I mean his fur.  White fur.

I had taken my felt slippers with me to wear around the house while I was visiting.  Naturally, they were covered in the fur of all the cats by the end of the weekend, although most notably the white fur of Gus, which stands out on everything except white.  I decided, therefore, to wash my felted slippers when I got home.  I hadn't washed them in awhile, and being so old, I didn't think I needed to take too many precautions in washing.  I threw the pair in with the rest of my load and didn't think much of it.

The agitation was enough to finally tear the hole open.  An actual HOLE.  I'm almost amazed.

I knitted these slippers.  I felted them.  I wore them for years upon years.  They are perfectly molded for my foot and can fit no one else.

And now it's goodbye.  Weep.

Though you must understand, in no way do I blame Gus for such a tragedy.  (Sweet little Gus.  If only I could capture his friendly personality and freely given love.  But, no, he has to be met and loved in person.)  These slippers were on the way out, and I knew it.  Caution even in washing would probably have made no difference at this point.  I had noticed the beginning of a tear months before and was amply prepared for this impending transition, having already made another pair.

My sensibilities are too strong, however:  I care too much for these old slippers.  They may find their way into storage instead of the garbage....