Plant management

Today I found myself driving 20 miles (each way) into Northern Virginia on an alcohol run. The liquor laws in my new state are a bit on the arcane side - I won't bore you with details, but suffice it to say that my local Trader Joe's does not sell alcohol, but the one over the state line does. I decided that despite the high cost of gas (down to $2.50!) the trip was worth it, as the pickings in local wine and liquor establishments are, as they say, slim.

So as to not look like a total lush, I bought a few extra items as "disguise" (much like the orange juice or paper towels purchased at those times when you're just looking for female sanitary items or contraception). I'm sure the $10 of groceries really changed the checkout person's opinion of my $120 worth of wine, and also one wonders why I even care about her opinion of me or my shopping habits.

Anyway, there was a sale on alstromeria, "The Peruvian Lily" they're calling it now, so I got some ("even if she's a lush, she's a classy lush if she's buying cut flowers," the checkout woman was surely thinking) and put them on the table behind the couch. And, just as I should have anticipated, within seconds they were being menaced by the wee Giklet.*
The guilt is clearly visible in those oh-so-wide eyes, and moments later he even hung his head in shame.
Note that the shame and guilt didn't stop him for one second from nibbling on the (luckily not-toxic-for-cats) plant leaves. Which brings me to this plant, which just last week migrated from the kitchen window sill to the kitchen table - the ledge is too small to sustain the plant when the window is closed, and nights in the 40s mean the window is closed most of the time now. One week ago, the plant was lush, verdant, budding all over with new growth. Now it is scarred, mauled, and headed for certain doom.
Back in '98, the Giklet spent the first five months of his life outside in the wilds of the Oakland flatlands, and while he seems quite happy with his indoor life, and I'm sure there's a lot he doesn't miss (e.g., he won't touch any food that hasn't been thoroughly processed by Purina or Hill's Prescription Diet), I guess he misses hanging out under and feasting on plants. I don't have the heart to yell, so I suppose we'll chalk this one up as another sacrifice to the goddess Bast.

Now I think it's time for a disco nap - tonight I am going to my second Spookytown-area Halloween party, this one with a Psycho theme. I don't know what the hell I'm going to wear; one suggestion was that I go naked but for a shower curtain. I think it would be a bit chilly, though...

*Yes, that's a case of wine visible on the bench in the background.