The Little Cactus That Could

When we first moved back to Wisconsin, Spousal Unit's mom got us a Thanksgiving cactus (much like a Christmas cactus, but also different). That year, it bloomed, and it had the most beautiful flowers.

Over the course of the next year, an apocalyptic mayhem was apparently wrought upon it by yours truly. A few sprigs of cactus fell off, much like the fabled Charlie Brown tree. And in its little plant mind, it screamed at me, "Why?! Oh, why would you do this to me?! For the love of GOD, just end it already!"

And then we got cats.

Titania is our mountain climber, nibbler, and all-purpose troublemaker. She steals yarn from my lap while I'm using it, eats candy wrappers that have any bit of chocolate stuck to them (yes, the whole wrapper), and tries to destroy our pipes by shredding the insulation off of them. (I don't let her do any of these things, but when the human's away ...)

Spousal Unit and I were still surprised (and horrified) when she decided to start nibbling on the cactus. It may not be super poky, like most cactuses, but it's still a cactus. 

As she usually eats plant matter in the early morning - as a signal to us that it's time to stop lazing about and feed her already - we began to sequester them on the top shelf in the closet, far away from her dagger-toothed villainy.

And this year, with three tiny sprigs and one limp bit of dying plant matter, it decided to bloom again.

Do your worst, kitty. Apparently, this plant is more hardy than most.