I'm sure my hordes of attentive readers are eagerly awaiting a cactus update. It is a tale of stalwart endurance, moral failing and sabotage most devious. Bought back in 2017, it rapidly outgrew its seedling pot, and by 2018 was cozily residing on a windowsill in a palm-sized replacement mixed with aquarium gravel for drainage.

(The seedling pot was present but shall not be visible as an aquarium decoration in an upcoming snail saga.)

By the start of 2021 it was visibly failing to thrive.

Its roots however had developed quite well, so once re-re-potted by its lazy slob of a wolfman caretaker, it started piling upwards and outwards.

2023

Sadly when it came time to re-re-re-pot the silly thing again this year (that lightweight, peat mossy cactus potting mix stuff had settled so badly that the pot's rim was cutting off its light) I allowed myself to be badgered by a self-appointed expert into sticking a fertilizer stick into its soil against my voiced protests, which promptly poisoned it to death.

May 2025. R.I.P.

So, strangely, though I joked about this "life affirming symbol of continuity" possibly dying as an extension of my own suicidal depression seven years ago, its demise instead ultimately demonstrated that my own marginal competence is still better than letting a busybody interfere.

 

You know who you are.