My addition to the family history: cat butt

June 12, 2007

When my parents moved from the farm to the cottage for the summer, I inherited all Mom’s plants. These were the usual array of Mom plants, including way too many African Violets, a Spider Plant, and various other greeneries. I was their liberator. I saved them from the bin.

Before these plants even made it to the car, they stirred heated debate between myself and wife, as to 1) just how green my thumb really was (to which I assured her it was very, thanks), and 2) plant placement in the modern suburban dwelling (to which she assured me there wasn’t enough room, thanks). It turns out we were both right, which is not the least bit satisfying.

One of the plants was a potted orange tree of some variety, which years ago was taken from a potted orange tree that belonged to my great grandfather. Apparently my aunt has the original tree, now. It’s not a beautiful tree by any means, it’s short, and not very full. You might describe it as scraggly, and I wouldn’t disagree. But I’ve promised to take care of this tree, and so this weekend I gave it a healthy trim and a little fertilizer, and any day now it should be full and beautiful. Or dead. That’s always an option.

I love this plant because on some level it’s known members of my family that I’ve no recollection of ever meeting. I like to think that somewhere, imprinted deep in it’s fiber are memories of my ancestors. And now, because it’s seated beside a chair frequented by cat#2, quite possibly memories of our cats licking themselves.