My Green Thumb isn't Totally Black

I love houseplants. I love the way they look and the way they bring a little of the natural world into my home. I tend to name my plants as well. I have to admit, I used to feel like I was a lone weirdo to be doing this until I met my co-worker. She also names her plants.

The problem is, I'm not the best at taking care of them. I try, I really do. Part of the problem is the way the house faces. There isn't a really good, bright south-facing window where my plants can bask in the sun. The plants I tend to gravitate towards need this kind of southern exposure. So they struggle and often they succumb over time.

I always sort of blamed myself, really. I didn't water them enough. I didn't check to make sure they were okay. I felt truly bad for the demise of my greenery. And then, then I realized. It's not just me.

Its the kittens.

I recently got my grandmother's hibiscus plant back from my parents. I love this damn plant. I love it sooo much. It's kind of a link to my past. My late grandmother adored it and it lived happily in her home for years. Then, I got it. In my old house, with no cats, it struggled because of lighting issues.

Here, it struggles because Everdeen has decided it's a salad. He is addicted to the damn thing. He grazes on the leaves and then goes off and pukes them up. Usually that takes place on my youngest daughter's bedroom rug but sometimes our feet will caress the oozy pile of moist cat vomit on our way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

This is what the plant looks like now. The leaves are tattered from grazing attacks. The lower branches are bare. I only hope that the green I see is a sign that there will be new growth and that it will recover.

I also hope putting it up on the table and shutting doors so the cats can't reach it will work. Because, not only do I not want to lose this plant I am also so tired of stepping in vomit at 3 am.