Just look at what you’ve done:
Whilst I am flattered that you are such enthusiastic residents of my home, and I agree that the Victorian features and original fireplaces are quite lovely, I’m afraid you have long overstayed your welcome.
I do not care that the carpets upstairs were left by the previous owner and are looking rather old and shabby, that does not mean it’s ok for you to sit down to a buffet meal on the bedroom floor.
I can quite understand your love of wool, cashmere and silk, but I am not prepared to feed you my choicest skeins of yarn. And although I can appreciate the urge to do your best and provide for your offspring, I refuse to turn my knitwear into a caterpillar sanctuary. My stash is not your local restaurant and/or nursery.
These mittens were made with yarn that was a gift. They have seen me through two winters, and still looked as good as new. When I found a small hole in the palm of one at the beginning of this year, I assumed I had caught it on something and was rather proud of my not-too-visible darning job. Little did I know this was merely your starter course and that you’d be settling down to a full banquet, chomping your way through my precious Woollen Rabbit.
I can understand the appeal; who wouldn’t want to gorge themselves on this baby soft merino although not, perhaps, quite as literally as you. Nevertheless, it simply won’t do.
I have already washed your compatriots out of one batch of clothing. This evening I will embark on a full-scale assault; clearing out my wardrobe, putting knitwear into the freezer, hoovering every corner and washing all my woollens.
I am not ordinarily a vengeful person and do not undertake this extermination lightly, but you have forced my hand. However, in the spirit of one fibre enthusiast to another, I give you fair warning:
You have a little over 8 hours. Get the hell out of my house.