Nonna Nettlewhisker

Nettlewhisker once lived in a cottage where skeins of yarn filled every basket and shelf. She nested between wool and cotton, listening as her human knit row after row by the fire. Curious paws soon led her to try it herself, and before long she was crafting scarves so fine they’d slip through a keyhole. She gave them freely—one to a field mouse shivering in the garden, one to a sparrow perched at the window, one to a neighbor Thimblekin who had lost his hat. Her little rocking chair creaked late into the night, her needles clicking like the ticking of a gentle clock. But yarn runs out, cottages change, and baskets get emptied. Nettlewhisker carried her last tiny ball of wool with her, determined to keep stitching wherever she went. When she arrived here, her needles were still clicking, and her eyes still twinkled with quiet stories she hasn’t told yet. Now she waits, needles poised, shawl snug, ready to share her craft and her comfort with a forever home. She doesn’t say it out loud—but she’s knitting that home into being, one row at a time.