AWESOME!!!   Stick with me. I’ll explain.

Our first child was a cat. Not because my husband wanted it, but because I did. I grew up with cats. They never lasted long, being indoor/outdoor types, but I always had one or two around. Cats are great (if you’re a cat person). They’re like living, breathing stuffed animals who occasionally  indulge you. Growing up moving all the time, these instant companions filled holes when I was lacking a BFF. I digress. I love that word. Digress. Makes me sound so much more sophisticated than my current running pants/fleece/sneakers garb would suggest. And there I go again. Okay, so finally, after a year of me artfully pulling kamikaze attacks on my husband’s, “No cats,” rule, he relented and we picked up Sequim at the Humane Society. Six months old, this guy knew from the get go who he had to win over and went on his own artfully coordinated attacks to win my husband’s favor. (And, I can say, at the end of Sequim’s 17 ½ years, my husband was just as torn up about his passing as the rest of us. Well played, cat, well played.)

Now, Sequim did all the usual things kittens who grow up to be cats do – playing, napping, staring at us until we acknowledged his superiority – but there was always one thing that cat didn’t quite grasp. Greens were not for him. It didn’t matter if it was a houseplant, a fern from a flower bouquet, cat grass, or the artificial Christmas tree – if it looked like roughage, in Sequim it went. And, then, unfortunately, back out it came. The cat lived through 17 Christmases and every year, the tree went up, then in, then back out. My poor husband gave up trying to give me flowers. They ended up living in the shower so the cat wouldn’t eat them. The bean seeds grown for a school science project never stood a chance. And slowly, over the course of his lifetime, the houseplants, one by one, lost their will to fight the battle of being partially digested and then regurgitated at the paws of a 10 pound cat.

You might say I let my plants down. I should have been there. I should have given them the ol’ “Don’t die! You have so much to live for!” spiel but I didn’t. Each addition to the compost pile meant one less pile of food bits and plant bits and bile I had to clean up. Clean up as much of that as I have and you too would view the demise as truly awesome.

This year for Mother’s Day my husband texted me to see if he could buy me flowers. I eye-balled our two six month old kittens and texted back, “No, that’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.” The fact that he was willing to take on two new fur balls who haven’t seen a Christmas tree yet was truly gift enough.