Hearth & Home Stories

New Zealand craft, country living, and the people behind both — since 2019

She's been making them by hand for 64 years. Now her last collection is going out the door.

Delwyn Carrick (72), a rug maker from Kerikeri in the Bay of Islands, is closing her workshop this spring. Her final handmade Seven Cats rug — the large half-moon design she's been making for years — is leaving her workshop one last time.

Kerikeri, Northland. The kind of spring morning where the windows are open before seven, the tūī are already going in the kōwhai, and the cats are sitting in the same square of sun they were sitting in last spring — and the spring before that. Delwyn Carrick leans over her worktable in the shed behind the villa she and her husband Graeme bought in 1979. Spools of wool in saffron, plum, charcoal, and burnt orange line the wooden shelves behind her. A calico cat named Kūmara is folded into a patch of light by the window, half asleep.

This spring is different. It's her last in the workshop.

"I'm seventy-two," she says, not looking up from the wool in her lap. "I can still do the work. I just can't do it as long anymore. My right thumb gives out after about four hours now. It didn't used to."

She glances at the small flock of half-finished rugs on the shelf opposite her — each one with seven cartoon cats arranged across a soft, half-moon shape, the way she's been making them for years.

"This is the last batch. After November, the workshop closes for good."

64 years and three generations of wool

Delwyn doesn't call herself an artist. She's a librarian, she'll tell you — thirty-four years cataloguing books at the Kerikeri library, retired in 2018. The rug making is something else. Something older.

Her grandmother Ana came to Dargaville, on the Northern Wairoa River, from a small village on the Dalmatian coast in 1923. She was seven years old, didn't speak a word of English — only Croatian — and the only things she brought from home — besides her mother and a wooden trunk — was the way her mother made rugs by hand. Wool from worn-out coats. Sacking from old flour bags. A hook her father had carved from a piece of olive wood.

"My grandmother taught me the summer I turned eight. 1962. She sat me down on her back verandah, put the wool in my hand, and said, 'Delwyn, you finish what you start, even if it takes you all summer.' It took me all summer. The rug was awful. She hung it on her wall anyway."

For the next sixty-four years, Delwyn made rugs in the evenings and at the weekends. Through library school. Through raising her daughter Michelle and her son Craig. Through Graeme — her husband of forty-one years — and through losing him to a heart attack in 2017.

"After Graeme died, I just kept working. The wool didn't ask me any questions. That helped."

By her own count, Delwyn has made a little over 4,200 rugs in sixty-four years. Some years it was barely a dozen. Some years, when the house was quiet and she had the time, it was closer to a hundred. The brass thimble she still wears every morning is the same one her grandmother carried over from Dalmatia in 1923 — passed down to Delwyn in the summer of 1962, the summer she first sat on the verandah and learned.

"It outlasted my grandmother. It'll probably outlast me," Delwyn says, running her thumb across the worn rim. "That's how you know it was made properly."

My grandmother used to say wool remembers everyone who's touched it. I don't know if that's true. But I've never once made a rug that didn't feel like it belonged to somebody before it left this room. — Delwyn Carrick, Kerikeri, Northland

What makes Delwyn's rugs different

What sets these apart isn't the cats — charming as they are. It's how they're made: as a piece of real, traditional handcraft, made the way her grandmother taught her.

Each rug is made from heavy-pile wool worked by hand into a cotton-backed canvas, then finished on the underside with a bonded non-slip backing that keeps the rug in place on timber floors, tiles, or laminate. The seven cats on the front aren't printed — they're worked into the rug fibre by fibre, with their colours, whiskers, and expressions made from the wool itself. They won't peel, crack, or wash off, because there's nothing on the surface to come off.

That difference matters more than it sounds.

If you've shopped for a cat rug online in the last year, you've almost certainly seen photos that look very much like Delwyn's — a half-moon shape, seven cartoon cats across the front, the same general arrangement. Many of those rugs are printed. The image is heat-pressed onto a thin synthetic mat, and what arrives at your door is essentially a piece of fabric with a picture on it. The cats are an image, not a texture. Run your hand across one and you feel nothing.

Delwyn's rugs are the opposite of that. The whiskers stand up. The plum-coloured cat is actually plum-coloured wool. The black cat is actually black wool. You can feel each of the seven cats under your bare feet on a cold morning, and you can see the depth of them from across the room.

"I've had customers send me photos of the printed version they bought before they found me," Delwyn says, shaking her head a little. "Sad little things. Flat. Slippery. That's not handcraft — that's a photograph someone's glued onto a doormat and called a rug."

The rugs are made for the places she pictures them: a hallway, a cosy corner of the kitchen, the bit of floor just inside the front door. Low-pile enough not to catch on the vacuum, dense enough not to flatten after a winter of muddy gumboots. The cotton-poly underside is machine washable on a cool, gentle wash when accidents happen — and they will. Cats are cats.

"It's a working rug, not a museum piece. Cats walk on it. Gumboots walk on it. That's the whole point."

"I keep all of them. That's the part of this that matters."

Delwyn pulls a battered wooden cigar box out from a low shelf and sets it on the table. The lid still smells faintly of cedar.

"These are letters from customers. I started getting them in 2021, when Michelle — my daughter — first set up a little shop for me online. My granddaughter Tayla has been running it for the last few years. People still write proper letters every now and then. I keep every one of them."

She slides one out, dated April 2024:

Dear Mrs Carrick — I lost my cat Mabel of seventeen years in February. I ordered your rug because the seven little cats on it looked like every cat I'd ever loved, all together at once. It sits in front of my bed now. My new cat, Toast, sleeps on it every single night. I think she knows. Thank you for making something that holds that much. — Customer letter, Timaru

Delwyn reads it through and folds it carefully back into the box.

"That's why I'm still doing this at seventy-two. Letters like that one."

What sets the Seven Cats rug apart

• 100% handmadeOne rug at a time, by Delwyn, in her Northland workshop — no factory, no production line, no second pair of hands.
• Real wool pile — not a printThe seven cats are made from the wool itself, fibre by fibre. They can't peel, crack, or wash off the way printed designs do.
• Non-slip backingA bonded cotton-poly underside keeps the rug in place on timber floors, tiles, or laminate. No slipping. No bunching at the door.
• Made for everyday lifeDense low-pile construction, machine washable on a cool, gentle wash. Made to live in your hallway — not on a wall.
• Generously sizedMeasures 90 cm wide × 60 cm deep — wide enough for a front hallway, in front of the kitchen sink, or on the hearth in front of the fire. Not a small doormat.
• Final collectionRoughly 400 rugs remain from Delwyn's last run before she closes the workshop at the end of November 2026.

The end of an era — Delwyn's final collection

At the end of November 2026, Delwyn closes the workshop for good. Her daughter Michelle — a nurse in Auckland, a bit over three hours south — has been asking her to move down for nearly two years.

"The house is too big for one person and two cats," Delwyn says, with a small shrug. "Michelle's right. It's time."

There's another reason, too — one she doesn't mention as readily.

"I don't have anyone to pass this on to. Michelle's a nurse. Craig's over in Perth. None of the grandkids want to spend ten years learning to do this the way my grandmother taught me. I don't blame them — it's not the world I learned this for. But it does mean when I close the workshop, that's the end of it."

On the shelves of the workshop sit roughly 400 finished Seven Cats rugs — the result of a winter spent finishing every piece she'd cut and started over the past year. Her final run. The last collection that will ever come out of the Carrick workshop.

A lot of them, she expects, will go out as presents — daughters buying for their mums, husbands buying for their wives, friends buying for the cat lover they always struggle to buy for. If you ask, Delwyn includes a folded card with the story of the rug, written by hand.

"Tayla — my granddaughter, she's twenty — is helping me get the last of them out. She knows the internet far better than I ever will. I make the rugs. She handles the rest." Delwyn laughs, quietly. "It's the best division of labour we've ever had in this family."

To make sure they go to people who'll actually use them, she's set the final-collection price well below what she's charged at craft fairs for years.

"I'm not in this for the money anymore," she says. "I want them out there — in somebody's hallway, in front of the fire, by the back door. That's where they were made to be."

She nods towards Kūmara, who has wandered over and is sitting squarely on the half-finished rug on the table — exactly the way she always does.

"And maybe with a cat sitting on them. That's how you know you've got one of mine."

What customers are saying

The short version

This is the rug you'll move from room to room, just so you can keep looking at it.

Each Seven Cats rug is made entirely by hand by Delwyn Carrick in her Northland workshop — one rug at a time, the way her grandmother taught her, the way her grandmother's mother taught her on the Dalmatian coast a hundred years ago. Cotton-backed, wool-piled, non-slip underneath, machine washable on a cool wash. Made to live in your hallway, your kitchen, or in front of the fire — not on a wall.

And every time you walk past it and one of your cats has commandeered it (and they will), you'll get that little "of course she has" moment, all over again.

Thank you, Delwyn. 🧶

Claim your rug now — with Delwyn's personal 100% money-back guarantee

Delwyn says it herself:

These rugs should only go home with people who'll actually love living with them. — Delwyn Carrick

That's why every rug comes with a 100% money-back guarantee:

Take the rug home. Put it by your door. Put it in front of the kitchen sink. Let your cat sit on it. If you don't love it, send it back within 30 days and get your money back. No questions asked.