How Spring, Kindness, and Crochet Brought Stitch, Sassy & Binx Home
By Amanda Bremen
I never meant to rescue a kitten.
I really never meant to rescue three.
And if you’d told me just a few years ago that my home would one day be ruled by a trio of feline personalities—each with their own quirks, sass, and love of yarn—I would’ve laughed and pointed to my dog. I’ve always been a dog person. Big ones. Loyal ones. The kind who nudge your hand and follow you from room to room like your very own shadow.
Cats were… different. Independent. Mysterious. Honestly, they made me a little nervous.
But then June 2020 happened. And like so many things in life that arrive quietly but change everything—so did Stitch, Sassy, and Binx.
The Cry That Changed Everything
That spring was strange. We were all living through quarantine. The world had slowed to a crawl, and the silence that used to feel peaceful now felt eerie. Even nature seemed to move differently, as if it was tiptoeing around us.
It was a hot day in early June, and I was outside trying to find some peace in the garden. That’s when I heard it—a sound I’ll never forget. A faint cry. At first, I thought it might be a bird. But as I moved closer to the fence line, crouching low near the old woodpile, I saw them.
Three kittens.
Tiny. Feral. Filthy. Hungry. Wide-eyed and terrified.
They darted when they saw me, nothing more than streaks of fur and fear. I froze. I had no idea what to do. My first instinct? Call someone. Anyone. A rescue group. Animal control. Surely someone more qualified. Someone with experience. Someone who’d actually owned a cat before.
But something in me paused. I didn’t want them taken. I didn’t want them forgotten.
Something told me—these were mine to love.
Learning as I Went (With Google, Gloves, and Good Intentions)
I’ll be honest. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t even own a litter box. My house was full of dog toys, not scratching posts. I didn’t know the first thing about feeding a kitten, let alone earning the trust of three who’d clearly learned to be afraid of humans.
But there I was—on my hands and knees in the dirt, slowly setting out food, watching from a distance, whispering kind words through tears.
It took days. Then weeks.
First, Stitch let me get close. He was the curious one. His fur was a soft gray, and he had these bright, intelligent eyes that never stopped moving. Sassy came next—though she earned her name every step of the way. She’d hiss one moment and then cautiously sniff my hand the next. A mix of brown, black, and gray—she looked like a tabby with opinions. Binx was the last to trust me. Small, black-and-white, with a pink nose and enormous eyes that seemed to take in the entire world.
And me? I fell in love. Completely. Quietly. All at once.
Crochet, Healing, and the Quiet Joy of Yarn
Around that same time, I’d picked crochet back up. Something about quarantine had stirred that old part of me—the one that found comfort in repetition, in softness, in the way yarn slips through your fingers like a gentle promise.
Crochet became my therapy.
In those long, uncertain weeks, I’d sit with a hook in hand and try to make sense of everything. A square here, a flower there, maybe a scarf I’d never wear. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about feeling useful. Calm. Steady.
What I didn’t expect was how curious the kittens would be about the yarn. Stitch was the first to bat at it. Sassy liked to steal the ball and hide it in places I still haven’t found. Binx, of course, waited until the others were asleep and then snuck in to curl up on whatever project I was working on.
There’s something poetic about that: three kittens and a ball of yarn. Me, crocheting my way back to peace. Them, learning how to trust. All of us healing together.
Feral Doesn’t Mean Unlovable
People say, “Oh, feral cats are impossible to tame.” And maybe sometimes they are. But I think what they really mean is—feral cats don’t come prepackaged with the kind of love that’s easy. You earn it.
You show up day after day, food in one hand and patience in the other. You learn to listen to what’s not being said. You celebrate the small wins—a purr, a slow blink, a nap in your lap.
And over time, those scared little eyes become something else. They soften. They recognize you. They choose you.
That’s the thing about rescuing animals—especially ones who’ve only known fear. When they finally decide to trust you, it’s the deepest kind of love. The truest.
It’s not loud. It’s not immediate. But it’s forever.
Stitch, Sassy, and Binx
Stitch, because he sewed his way into my heart with that gray fur and gentle spirit.
Sassy, because she never let anyone tell her what to do—and I admired that.
Binx, because she was my little mystery, quiet and sweet, always watching from the sidelines.
They taught me things I didn’t know I needed to learn.
That love is patient.
That healing isn’t linear.
That spring doesn’t always come with flowers—sometimes it arrives in the form of tiny paw prints on your porch.
From Rescue to Inspiration
I didn’t rescue them to write a book.
In fact, writing about them came much later—after I realized their story wasn’t just about kittens. It was about hope. Kindness. Joy. And yes, a bit of chaos. (If you’ve ever tried to crochet around three kittens, you’ll understand.)
What started as late-night journaling and yarn therapy slowly became something bigger. A picture book. A celebration. A reminder that sometimes, the best stories begin when you aren’t looking for them.
I created Three Kittens and a Ball of Yarn as a way to share what these three little lives brought into mine. The joy. The mess. The learning. The laughter. And the reminder that spring always comes—sometimes covered in fur and full of surprises.
Crochet Is More Than a Hobby—It’s a Lifeline
Crochet kept me grounded during a time when the world felt upside down. The repetition of stitches was like breathing. The softness of yarn reminded me of gentleness. Every piece I made felt like a little symbol of hope—that no matter how tangled the world seemed, we could make something beautiful from it.
Now, crochet is part of our life. Stitch will curl around my legs while I work. Sassy still tries to “help” by dragging yarn across the room. Binx curls up beside me and purrs, watching the pattern grow.
It’s not just crafting—it’s connection.
Crochet, like kindness, loops back around.
A Final Thought
I didn’t grow up with cats. I didn’t know what to expect. But I opened my heart anyway. And in return, I got three lives that changed mine.
If you’ve ever hesitated to rescue—because you’re unsure, inexperienced, or just scared—you’re not alone. I was, too.
But love doesn’t wait for perfect conditions. It finds you right where you are—often hiding under the porch, crying softly in the stillness of June.
So maybe this spring, the unexpected will knock on your door.
And maybe—just maybe—you’ll open it.
Because you never know where a single ball of yarn might lead.
Amanda Bremen
Writer. Crochet Enthusiast. Dog Lover. Cat Convert.
Still untangling life’s complexities… and loving every minute of it.
Amanda Bremen Books 