There’s a shop in Harvard Square that sells plants. When I lived in Cambridge, I went in one day, and told the sales attendant that I was looking for a very rare plant.
What plant is that, he asked me.
“A plant I cannot kill.”
I have a jet-black thumb. A black hole black thumb. My father can coax purple organic corn from the swamp and sand of southwest Florida. I can’t keep a single shoot of bamboo alive.
The plant guy sold me a pothos plant, which I managed to not kill for many years, even after two days in a boiling hot car when we moved from Boston to Chicago. It was finally slayed by my cat Jane, who was steadfast in eating all its leaves, no matter where I put it.
Clearly I need a Rose of Jericho. I wonder if it withstands cats as well as it withstands drought…