A week and a half ago I introduced a new houseplant into our home. The odds are stacked against it for several reasons, the top three reasons being: me, our cats, and me.
To shrug off the responsibility and the weight of years of plant neglect and subsequent deaths I have left in the wake of my life, I say that I do not have a green thumb. What that really means is that I kill plants. I don’t mean to or want to kill plants, but I do. Sometimes I forget to water them. Sometimes I over water them due to the guilt of forgetting to water them. Sometimes I lightly dust their leaves with a damp paper towel and talk to them in soothing murmurers, thereby killing them too.
Dracaena trifasciata, better known as the snake plant or mother-in-law’s tongue, is recommended for beginners by ye ole Wikipedia. In Australia it is considered a weed. The general consensus of the handful of plant and gardening sites I read is that even a brick could raise and grow this plant (my words, not theirs). I simply need to give it water from time to time, that’s it. I am feeling good about this.
That leaves the cats. Chloe and Leia eyeballed it and sniffed it suspiciously before walking away and ignoring it. James however…
“No, James,” I said. He gave me a look, clearly annoyed by my interference.
Next he whapped one of the leaves, impressed with the way it sprung back and forth. “James!” I raised my voice.
He leapt off the chair and stalked out of the room. Sock Monkey raised his sunglasses in alarm and looked around, the book in his lap momentarily forgotten.
And while James has gone back to sleeping in his red chair since being spoke unto, he has not acknowledged the plant.
Perhaps there is hope for it yet.