She was a dappled rabbit obsessed with succulent plants, who would hop onto my slippers in the morning begging for greens, and secretly chew on wire coatings and cardboard when no one was looking. As first-time pet owners, we thought these were just "adorable nuisances"—until she died of acute intestinal obstruction from eating a toxic succulent.

The night we buried her, my daughter suddenly said, "I wish I could touch her ears and little nose again."Two years later, when Tumur, an Inner Mongolian felt art inheritor, made my first wool-felted rabbit, he picked up a tuft of Albas mountain wool and said, “True craft lies not in replicating form, but in capturing the detail that pierces the heart.”

That was how Feltque was born.We understand: each piece is a gentle rebellion against time. What truly vanishes is not life, but the warmth we can no longer touch. And the artisan’s calling is to preserve love in the shape of a final heartbeat.