If my track record for keeping a plant alive was any indicator at how successful I would be as a parent or a dog owner, I’m sure that CPS or the ASPCA would probably have me at the top of some kind of watch list. Luckily, I seem to be much more adept at taking good care of things that can move and make audible (and sometimes annoying) noises when they are hungry or thirsty or in dire need a diaper change. A plant will just sit there and suffer in silence, right up until it’s leaves wither and fall off. And usually by the time I start to notice that something is seriously wrong, it’s already too late.

Some people would argue that plants are actually easier to care for. After all, unlike kids and pets, plants actually come with instructions. Yet, even when I follow the instructions to the letter, I manage to somehow screw it up. Hell, I’m the girl that once killed a cactus. I don’t even know how that happened. I did everything the directions said–placed it in the window where it would get lots of sun, watered it sparingly. Then, one day, I went to touch one of the spines and the entire cactus disintegrated. It literally crumbled and turned to dust, just like the scene at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when the crazy Nazi chooses poorly and drinks out of the wrong cup.

Poor cactus. Never stood a chance.

Since then, I have come to terms with the fact that I will never have a green thumb, and I am resolved to simply enjoy plant life outdoors in its natural environment where it belongs (or occasionally in my salad bowl). But, now that we have a yard big enough, I do plan to try my hand at growing some fruits and vegetables, so we will have to see how that goes. And things will start to get interesting around here come spring, since the previous owners of our house put a lot of time and effort into landscaping the yard. I can only hope that the flowers and plants are hearty enough to withstand my idiocy.

This little fella, however, did not fare so well, though I can say with a clear conscious that this was not my fault. The owners left him behind when they moved out and put the house on the market back in April, and by the time we moved in at the end of November, he was already gone.

Sorry little guy. You fought the good fight. It’s time now to rest in peace and stop dropping your dead leaves on my couch.

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