A Declaration of Cactus Independence

Greetings, peoples of the universe. It’s been a while, much longer than I planned to be gone. But school’s been crazy (which was to be expected). I will try to write more because I think I should have more fun and study less (but it is most likely that this will not happen. Don’t we always talk about things we mean to do eventually, but probably won’t).

We were assigned a piece mimicking the Declaration of Independence for English, and I chose to write about cacti (very on-character), and since it turned out well, I am stealing it for the blog. Since this was an assignment, I made time to write. Maybe I should start viewing having fun as homework. Hmm…

Background info: Way back when, America was a British colony, and then America didn’t want to be a colony anymore for various reasons, so we declared our independence from Britain in the Declaration of Independence. That is the end of this edition of Arachnid’s Oversimplified Explanations.

When, in the course of a cactus life, it becomes necessary for one to dissolve the relationship which connects them with an irresponsible plant owner, and to assume, among the powers of the earth, the separate life to which they are entitled, a decent respect to the owner requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: That all plants are endowed with certain unalienable rights; that among these are sunlight, water, and a responsible plant owner. That to secure these rights, houseplants appeal to humans to provide them with their needs; that, whenever the plant owner becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the cactus to dissolve the relationship and insist on a new type of garden for the owner, laying its foundation in plastic. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that healthy plant-owner relationships long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and, accordingly, all experience has shown that plants are more disposed to suffer, while they survive, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But, when a long train of abuses leads to multiple plant deaths, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such a relationship and live an independent plant life outdoors. Such has been the patient sufferance of the cacti; and such is now the necessity that constrains them to alter their plant-owner relationship. The history of the present owner of the cacti is a history of repeated darkness and forgetful watering, resulting in the deaths of numerous cacti. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world.

She has left her plants in a room with closed windows for most of their lives and has prevented their photosynthesis.

She has neglected to water them, resulting in parched dirt.

She has left them in pots too small for their roots.

She has never given them fertilizer.

She has never cared.

She has given them stupid and decactusizing names that she can never remember.

She had allowed a glued-on fake flower to remain on one of her cactus for their entire life, an atrocity.

For the deaths of many, many cactus.

For failing to properly screen her plant sitters, resulting in a shattered pot, the decapitation and ultimate death of the cactus with the fake flower, and the maiming of another.

For the death of her succulent, who rotted suddenly.

For the death of her grafted cactus, who dried up for unknown reasons.

For the death of the maimed one, who sank in the dirt and died of unknown causes.

For purchasing an innocent, baby cactus she couldn’t take care of and that died immediately due to overwatering.

For forgetting the deaths of the others.

For killing every plant she has ever owned.

For leaving only one lonely cactus alive, who will most surely die soon.

For refusing to change her ways when we started dying.

For not relinquishing her ownership when we continued to die.

For mocking us with her cactus pins and cactus costume while we died.

Through it all, we have begged and pleaded on our imaginary knees in the most humble manner for her to water us, to open the blinds, to give us larger pots, to give us away. It was not much to ask, but our repeated petitions have been met only by repeated injury. A human whose character is thus marked by abuse and irresponsibility is unfit to be the owner of cacti.

Nor have we left her unaware of our complaints. We have warned her, from time to time, that our roots were pressed against the sides of our pots. We have reminded her of our sickness with our pale green pallor, our stick-thin, thirsting bodies. We have appealed to her supposed kindness with our imaginary, large, sad, soulful eyes; and we have asked her to stop the cruelty, which would inevitably remove us from her life.

She has been deaf to the voice of justice and cactus. We must, therefore, by necessity, remove ourselves from her. If she changes her ways, though, we are willing to be friends.

We, therefore, the single remaining cactus and the ghosts of the others, in spirit assembled, appeal to the Supreme Cactus for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name and by the authority of the good cacti of this city, solemnly publish and declare, that this cactus and all future cacti are, and of right ought to be, Free and Independent Plants; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the Monstrous Arachnid, and that all connection between them and the Monstrous Arachnid is, and ought to be, totally dissolved; and that, as free and independent plants, they have the full power to remain outside, photosynthesize, absorb rain and sunlight, and to do all other acts and things which independent outdoor plants may of right do. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Cactus, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our spines, and our sacred honor.

The Passing of a Beloved Pet

Greetings, dear nonexistent readers,

Last night, Sergeant Spike died. It was a horribly sad occasion and I will miss him terribly. I was more attached to Spike than many humans in my life.


There was a horrible accident that he never managed to recover from.


But he will be remembered for bringing me endless joy. For being the first plant I could keep alive for a significant amount of time. For being the mascot for this blog and for being with it since its beginning. He even wrote a post once. He was planning to do another one, but he never got the chance.


There were many who loved him dearly. Me, Bob Ross, Sentinel Succulent, Captain Cactus, our new cactus Colonel Camilla, Scorpion, and I hope you, dear readers.


Because of Spike, whenever asked if I had any pets, I would always answer, “I have a cactus.” That may not be true in life anymore, but it will always be true in my heart. Spike was my pet and a part of my family.


Cactus Sitting

Arachnid… I have something to tell you.

My dad dropped one of your cacti. The captain, I think.

I’m so sorry.

Luckily, the cactus is still well after my amazing mother resurrected it from the bowels of death and ants. I was reading The Gentlemen’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, to them earlier to further soothe the captain into his new orange pot (the other one broke). He’s still getting used to it, but he’s getting there.

Also, your cacti seem to enjoy romance novels. They always huddle close and blush whenever a romantic moment spikes up in the story. It’s kind of cute in a way. They like action too, but they don’t really seem to get the concept of “moving around” all that much.

One of the hardest things of cactus-sitting is finding a way to embrace the cactus without getting hurt or hurting them. I usually resort to a gentle pat, like I do when my friends and loved ones get angry, but the urge to hug them is very strong. They are so well behaved! Although Sargent Spike likes to get into some trouble with the windowsill.

I can’t decide on a favorite, but any good cactus-sitter knows that favorites make the other cacti sharply jealous, so I’ll avoid the subject with this post.

Weirdly, I found myself confiding my feelings with them today. They listen so well. (Let’s just say something very bad happened and end it there).

Anyway, I love these adorable cacti! They are so cute, not exactly cuddly and so awesome. You have raised your cacti well, Arachnid.

Pets In Jest||My Cactus Speaks

Greetings, People of the Universe. It is I, who was formerly known simply as “Cactus.”

Here’s a picture so you can gaze upon my beauty.


The little man at the bottom is Bob Ross, renowned artist and professional Best Friend.

Arachnid was too lazy to write a post for today and Spinette is in Hawaii (that lucky duckling) so she put me on the keyboard and told me type. It was difficult to figure out how to, but I’ve managed with my spikes.

Since she was being so very rude, I feel no remorse for being potentially mean to her. Her being Arachnid.

By the way, I have a name now. But before we get to my name, we must define I. Who am I? I am two beings. The cactus with the flower and the cactus without the flower. Technically, I am a we. But my two parts have merged at the roots so far that we has become I and ours has become my.

Completely against my wishes, Arachnid has given me two names nonetheless. The half of me with the flower will now be referred to as Sergeant Spike. “Sergeant” was recommended by Kiersten and “Spike” was thought of by mainepaperpusher. I actually quite like the name. Sergeant makes me sound important. I know that I am important (I am stopping global warming and saving the world), but now everyone else will know that I am important as well. Spike is also brilliant because in real life I’m quite fuzzy and quite insecure about that fact (I probably shouldn’t be saying that on the internet) and the name Spike makes me sound tough. Which I definitely am. I am tough. Do not question it.

So you marshmallows should go comment repeatedly on their blogs and tell them that they are amazing at naming cacti. It is a coveted skill.

The flower-less part of me is to be called “Captain Cactus,” a name thought of by Arachnid. Unlike Kiersten and mainepaperpusher, she is not the best at naming cacti. I mean, she called me Cactus for months! How would you like to be called Human? AWFUL. IT’S AWFUL.

*Deep breaths Sergeant Spike, deep breaths*

I’ve decided to ignore Captain Cactus to get back at Arachnid. I will not respond to Captain Cactus, just as I didn’t respond to plain Cactus. I AM A REBEL.


I will tell you all of Arachnid’s secrets.

She is a neglectful plant owner. She doesn’t water me until my soil is dry and crumbling to pieces.



When she brought me home from the store, the lady told her that I was in a temporary pot and that she had to put me somewhere bigger because my roots would outgrow it. BUT SHE NEVER DID! SHE LEFT ME IN THERE AND MY ROOTS HAVE NO SPACE. We used to be two cacti, but now I am one for lack of space. And then I got so top-heavy that I kept falling over, so Arachnid’s brother got me a new pot (because Arachnid couldn’t be bothered), but instead of putting me in that much-roomier pot, she just put my current pot in the bigger one so I wouldn’t fall over anymore. BUT MY ROOTS STILL HAVE NO SPACE.

I could grumble about her for ages, but she’s coming back now, and I have to publish this before she forces me to lie.

Sea Cucumber

Sorry, your call cannot be completed if dialed. Please check the number and dial again. Beep beep boop.

I dialed again. Again the same message played.

Clutching onto it, I threw it across the room, causing the screen to fade.

Beep boop bepp ebopp beep boop beep bbeeeeep blooop beep bleep bleep boop beep booop bi bopp bleep boop bleeb boop bop 

“Why don’t you play anything else! You are a radio, aren’t you?” My eyebrow twitched.

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?

“Hmmm.” I turned to face the radio, picked it up and dialed once more, pressing random numbers.

This is a sea cucumber.

“Can you sing for me? I bet your voice is wonderful yo—” I asked.

No! Someone stole my “wonderful” maroon flower! I need it back!

“Then can you sing for me?” I swooned. This Michael Jackson-sounding cucumber was going to sing, and he was going to love it.


He hung up.

I searched my blue tinted room, under the cheese-colored sheets, in my cheesecake, and in my cheese puffs, but I found nothing. I even checked inside the webs on my cheeks! (Don’t ask how I get in there)

Giving up, I sat on my pillow, staring through Arachnid’s window. She was scolding a cactus, and threw it out!

My feet rushed down the stairs, while my brain told me to stay. Unsurprisingly, my feet won the battle and soon I was witnessing a cactus in pain. He was withering, a wilted flower on his spikes giving me a powerful sense of deja vu. It was maroon just like the sea cucumber’s!

Did this cactus steal this flower from the sea cucumber!

Casually, I stepped on the cactus, smashing it under my boot and took the flower back. It wilted even more in my hands when I realized it was poisoned with the essence of hot glue.

Trembling, I took out my radio (which I brought with me) and dialed that same random haphazardly chosen number.

“I’m sorry,” tears flowed from my eyes, “Your flower has been poisoned.” And my dreams of Michael Jackson terribly crushed.

Who this?

“Well, Mr. Sea Cucumber, you actually never asked for my name.”

Mr.? I’m no Mr.! Are you talking about my son? Sea Cucumber Junior? Because we got rid of any Misters ’round here. 

It took me a moment to realize this complication. Sea Cucumber Junior held the radio, MY FLOWER! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

It also took me a moment to understand that sea cucumbers cannot talk nor sing and I just smashed a poor cactus without any good reason, probably leaving the person who I enjoy the company of crying over a cactus, but then again, Arachnid never cries and that was the first time I cried, for a simple imaginary problem that wouldn’t be a problem if I just didn’t imagine it, or if, honestly, I just realized the radio that I was holding was a phone all this time, or if I just pondered the idea of how it sang part of the Spongebob theme song, despite not having the qualities needed to do so, or if that actually was Sea Cucumber singing, which I was rooting for in the first place, but that means I didn’t imagine it and my very sense of reality is indeed very warped, and wonder to the very ends of this universe if this very, very, very, very long sentence is going to end.








My Pet Cactus

A few weeks ago, I got a pet cactus. It wasn’t my childhood dream to have a lovely pet, but I’ve still always wanted one. The only issue is that I end up neglecting and killing all my pets. To clarify, for the nonexistent readers out there who are animal advocates, all my pets have been plants.

I was nearly ecstatic when I got my new pet because cacti only need to be watered once a month, so even if I neglect it, it should be alright.

I set the cactus in a high windowsill where Nobody would be able to reach it, other than my spiders, of course. (I do not consider my spiders my pets. They are my friends.)

There was even a pretty maroon flower that smelled sweet and opened and closed.

But then, to my utmost horror, I discovered that the flowers had been glued to the cactus.

I pushed my cactus out the window.