Feline Frisky - prose/extremely short story

I sit in Grandma's lap. Watching as she enjoys her favorite hobby. Friskas is
sitting on the arm of the chair, purring as she watches me rock back
and forth with the motion of Gran's knitting. I start to get dizzy
and topple over the woman's legs. Before Gran can save me, Friskas
pounces and smacks me across the room. I try to keep rolling, try to
get further away, but Friskas is too fast. She leaps after me and
crushes me under her weight. Gran is hollering at the feline, telling
her to let me go, while trying to pull me back. Friskas bites down on
my soft belly and growls. I can feel her voice, vibrating down her
teeth, thrumming through me. I wonder if Gran can feel it where she
is touching me. Friskas lets go with her teeth and swipes at me,
sending me tumbling down the hallway. She continues smacking me, then
chasing me, smacking, chasing, smack, chase. Until, Gran gets fed up.
She calls after Friskas, I can hear her getting closer, she must be
following the trail of my destruction, the cat left behind. Friska
jumps on top of me, scoots me underneath, trying to fool the old
woman. I feel a tugging. It's her! It has to be! Friskas is lifted
off of me and there is the face I have grown to love. Grandma! She
winds me up as she walks back to her chair. She lowers herself,
slowly, and cradles me in her lap, before taking her needles back up.
I watch and sway as I am lovingly turned into a scarf. On the arm of
the chair sits, once again, Friskas, her tail whipping back and
forth, ready to pounce.

Oh, the metaphor. It is simply beautiful.
The description of the yarn, the way it feels.
Personified to have love for the grandma.
It's pretty.