Spring is in the air. To some this is a time of renewal, a moment of rebirth, a season of rejuvenation. To celebrate this, hoes are dug out from under the dust and clutter of sheds and dragged out into the still weak sunlight in hopes of hurrying the gardening season along.

There has been many a yard I have admired in the height of blossom. Some lawns are just indescribably beautiful. One can tell the homes of the people that just revel in growing and nurturing life.

I am not one of those people.

First, I live in an apartment, thus no lawn. Well, indoor plants are possible, but there is one little problem: a black thumb. His name is Oliver and he’s my white cat. He kills anything that it is within his power to decimate that otherwise demands any of my attentions.

You see, I’d love to have plants in our place. We have had plants in our place. He’s killed every last one of them. Every last one. There have been some horrific and comical ends in my home.

When we first settled into our home many years ago, I started with the usual indoor plants: ferns, spider plants, that sort of thing. Oliver was a kitten at the time so a little chewing was expected in terms of exploration. What wasn’t expected was that he would eat a whole plant in a single sitting. I’d come home from work and there would be tattered remnants of whatever poor, victimized vegetation I’d brought home in hopes of cultivating into a full, lush plant. To add insult to injury, he’d later regurgitate the remains – on the carpet, by the bed.

Reflecting back at the time, I should have had greater suspicions when he tried to eat the plastic plants at my mom’s home. He didn’t just take a nibble, figure it was artificial, and walk away. No, he terrorized those plastic plants, determined to see them wilt. Those are the only vegetations that have survived him.

After the first homicide, I got a little smarter. I bought hanging plants. One would think that would solve the problem. He climbed the curtains and improved his leaping skills. I brought home plants with juicy leaves, like aloe, thinking that would curb his appetite. He didn’t chew but he continually knocked them over until they suffered such trauma that they would just resign and die. I got a cactus and it suffered the same fate. Oliver seemed to take the little poke he received from that plant very personally.

He’s even eaten other people’s vegetation. We live in a cat-friendly building and Oliver would go visiting to whomever had their door open for a microsecond. Well, he found the plant lover’s apartment and from there on in our neighbour would occasionally find an extra dinner guest in the evening.

Needless to say, I gave up on plants. My conscience would not allow me to subject another plant to such brutal terrorization. Although I love all variety of floras I simply cannot nurture any of my own. This may be for the best. After all, I reared Oliver from a kitten and look what happened. If any plant turns out in such a manner we may end up with killer tomatoes roaming through the streets horrifying the gardeners of Boyle Street and McCauley. However, unlike with my cat, I probably won’t be able to have them behave for treats.

Keri lives in Boyle Street. We have never met her cat and are not sure we want to.