Hearth & Home Stories

American 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.

Edith Pelletier (72), a French-Canadian rug maker from Putney, Vermont, is closing her workshop this summer. Her final handmade Seven Cats rug — the large half-moon design she's been making for years — is leaving her studio one last time.

Putney, Vermont. The kind of morning where the windows are open before seven and the cats are sitting in the same square of sun they were sitting in last summer — and the summer before that. Edith Pelletier leans over her worktable in the back room of the house she and her husband Raymond bought in 1979. Spools of wool in saffron, plum, charcoal, and burnt orange line the wooden shelves behind her. A calico cat named Junebug is folded into a patch of light by the window, half asleep.

This summer 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 July, the workshop closes for good."

64 years and three generations of wool

Edith doesn't call herself an artist. She's a librarian, she'll say — thirty-four years cataloging books at the Putney Public Library, retired in 2018. The rug making is something else. Something older.

Her grandmother Marguerite came to Vermont from Trois-Rivières, Quebec, in 1923. She was seven years old, didn't speak a word of English, 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. Burlap from feed sacks. A hook her father had carved from a piece of birch.

"My grandmother taught me the summer I turned eight. 1961. She sat me down on her back porch, put the wool in my hand, and said, 'Edith, 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, Edith made rugs in her evenings and her weekends. Through library school. Through raising her daughter Claire and her son Marc. Through Raymond — her husband of forty-one years — and through losing him to a heart attack in 2017.

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

By her own count, Edith 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 Quebec in 1923 — passed down to Edith in the summer of 1961, the summer she first sat on the porch and learned.

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

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. — Edith Pelletier, Putney, Vermont

What makes Edith's rugs different

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

Each rug is built from heavy-pile wool yarn worked by hand into a cotton-backed canvas, then finished on the underside with a bonded non-slip backing that keeps the rug planted on hardwood, tile, or laminate. The seven cats on the front aren't printed — they're worked into the rug fiber by fiber, with their colors, 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-themed rug online in the last year, you've almost certainly seen photos that look very much like Edith'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.

Edith's rugs are the opposite of that. The whiskers stick up. The plum-colored cat is actually plum-colored 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 dimension of them from across the room.

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

The rugs are designed for the place she imagines them: an entryway, a kitchen reading nook, the small landing between the hallway and the front door. Low-pile enough not to catch on a vacuum, dense enough not to crush after a winter of boots. The cotton-poly underside is machine-washable on a cool, gentle cycle when accidents happen — and they will. Cats are cats.

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

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

Edith 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 Claire — my daughter — first set up a small shop for me online. My granddaughter Emma has been running it since she turned fourteen. People still write actual letters every now and then. I keep every one of them."

She slides one out, dated April 2024:

Dear Mrs. Pelletier — 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, Charleston, SC

Edith 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 Edith, in her Vermont workshop — no factory, no assembly line, no second pair of hands.
• Real wool pile — not a printThe seven cats are built from the wool itself, fiber by fiber. They can't peel, crack, or wash off the way printed graphics do.
• Non-slip backingA bonded cotton-poly underside keeps the rug planted on hardwood, tile, or laminate. No slipping. No bunching at the door.
• Made for everyday lifeDense low-pile construction, machine-washable on a cool gentle cycle. Built to live in your entryway — not on a wall.
• Generously sizedMeasures 35" wide × 24" deep — wide enough for a front hallway, a kitchen sink mat, or the landing in front of the fireplace. Not a small doormat.
• Final collectionRoughly 400 rugs remain from Edith's last run before she closes the workshop at the end of July 2026.

The end of an era — Edith's final collection

At the end of July 2026, Edith closes the workshop for good. Her daughter Claire — a nurse in Burlington, two and a half hours north — has been asking her to move up to the city for nearly two years.

"The house is too big for one person and two cats," Edith says, with a small shrug. "Claire'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. Claire is a nurse. Marc is in Montreal. 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 back room 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 Pelletier workshop.

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

"Emma — my granddaughter, she's sixteen — is helping me get the last of them out. She knows the internet better than I ever will. I make the rugs. She handles the rest." Edith laughs, quietly. "It's the best division of labor 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 fireplace, by the kitchen door. That's where they were made to be."

She nods toward Junebug, 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 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 Edith Pelletier in her Vermont workshop — one rug at a time, the way her grandmother taught her, the way her grandmother's mother taught her in Quebec a hundred years ago. Cotton-backed, wool-piled, non-slip on the underside, machine-washable on a cool cycle. Built to live in your entryway, 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, Edith. 🧶

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

Edith says it herself:

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

That's why every rug ships 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.