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.

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

 

The Weaver Family Has Grown! (And Another Announcement)

Heyo peeps! Finals are finally over. And I didn’t suck!

It’s been a while. I hope you guys liked all those reblogs. There are still a couple left to go through.

But! Exciting news! We got more pets!

 

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My amazing friend got me cacti for my birthday!

The one on the left is Captain Cactus and the one on the right is Sentinel Succulent. And Spinette had an absolutely BRILLIANT idea.

Introducing… The Cactus Army!

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Okay… Now to the other announcement.

I know you guys JUST got me back, but I have to leave again on June 20th. We’re going to Bangladesh! *Half-hearted cheer* We’ll be back on July 15th.

In the meantime, Spinette will keep you company and I’ll have some posts scheduled ahead, but I won’t be able to reply to all your lovely comments. (Because there won’t be WiFi, as far as I’m aware.)

Greta Thinks She’s A Labrador Retriever

I need a Greta. (I’ve finally repotted Sergeant Spike!)

Remember when you were first in love and the idea of taking a shower together seemed like such a romantic thing to do? That is until you realized that only one person could get under the shower head at a time. Plus, there really wasn’t enough room and soapy elbows polked soapy “insert your favorite […]

via Greta Thinks She’s A Labrador Retriever — Everyone Else Has the Best Titles

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.

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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.

AND MY NAME IS SERGEANT SPIKE.

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.

AND

AND

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.

Gardening

Dear nonexistent readers,

Due to the impending doom and sneaky approach of midterms, it seems as though the days have inexplicably shrunk.

Apologies to all who have been here long enough to have read this post before, but I will be reposting an old post.

 

Midterms are over and this is the last old post! We’ll have new content starting Monday (and Mellow Yellow on Sunday).

 

I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions, but I’m literate and I’ve got a keyboard, so I can write about gardening!

When I said, “I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions,” you probably didn’t wonder why I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions, but I will answer the question you didn’t wonder about anyway after the colon:

I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions because I am the worst gardener I know (then again, I don’t know that many gardeners. I don’t even know that many people to begin with…). I have had many pet plants (which I mentioned in my previous post, My Pet Cactus) and all of them (other than my cactus) have suffered the same morose fate: death (in which I had a hand).

My first pet plants (that I can remember, at least) were some tomato plants that I got for my fifth-grade science fair project (“for” meaning I used the tomato plant in the science fair project. I did not get a tomato plant as a present for my science fair project. That would be idiotic, as science fair projects are inanimate objects and thus cannot feel emotions, including the happiness that makes giving gifts worthwhile for some). I forgot to water these tomato plants and they shriveled up and died from neglect.

My next plants were some Morning Glories that I kept in a little terra cotta pot and grew from a seed (I grew the tomatoes from a seed as well). But once they sprouted, I kept pulling off the leaves and they eventually died. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to pull off the leaves because I wanted my Morning Glories to flourish more than anything else, and pulling off the leaves seems very counterproductive.

After that, I made a lovely fairy garden with pretty light green plants. I watered it too much and it rotted from the inside out.

My Pet Moths

Dear nonexistent readers,

Due to the impending doom and sneaky approach of midterms, it seems as though the days have inexplicably shrunk.

Apologies to all who have been here long enough to have read this post before, but I will be reposting an old post.

 

When I said that my only pets were plants, I lied. Unintentionally, of course. I also had some pet moths.

Way back a long time ago, in kindergarten to be specific, everyone in my class received a board game. I mean, technically it was a board game, but it was printed on regular printing paper, which, as the name implies, is used for printing upon. Usually. Printing paper has a plethora of other uses too, which I’m sure you can use your own imagination to figure out.

So anyway, returning to the point at hand, my lovely kindergarten teacher gave us all a board game and Mexican Jumping Beans. I was entranced by the beans. My five-year-old mind could not process the magic of legumes that moved on their own. Usually, legumes require people to move them.

We were not told that Mexican Jumping Beans are not, in fact, beans, but rather they are moth larvae.

So I brought four or five moth larvae home, convinced that they were magical beans.

For a few minutes, days, or weeks, I can’t remember, we all played this lovely board game with my magical beans. It was brilliant.

Then, one morning, I wake up, as most people do on most mornings, and I decided to play my lovely board game. I was very surprised to find that the little plastic box where I kept my magic beans were full of moths.

 

Foopy the Fruit Fly

As mentioned in my post Gardening, I once had a fairy garden that I watered too much and drowned. The roots of my plant rotted from the inside out.

Well, many fruit flies were attracted to my fairy garden and they would swarm around my fairy garden, for what purpose, I have no idea. I was quite fond of one particular fruit fly and I dubbed it Foopy.

Obviously, I had no way to tell the difference between Foopy and every other fruit fly and thus many, many fruit flies were named Foopy, but one at a time, of course.

As Foopy was not one fruit fly (as I believed), but many, Foopy lived far past the average life expectancy of a fruit fly.

 

On the note of life expectancy, look up the immortal jellyfish. It is my favorite animal (aside from spiders, obviously).

My Pet Moths

When I said that my only pets were plants, I lied. Unintentionally, of course. I also had some pet moths.

Way back a long time ago, in kindergarten to be specific, everyone in my class received a board game. I mean, technically it was a board game, but it was printed on regular printing paper, which, as the name implies, is used for printing upon. Usually. Printing paper has a plethora of other uses too, which I’m sure you can use your own imagination to figure out.

So anyway, returning to the point at hand, my lovely kindergarten teacher gave us all a board game and Mexican Jumping Beans. I was entranced by the beans. My five-year-old mind could not process the magic of legumes that moved on their own. Usually, legumes require people to move them.

We were not told that Mexican Jumping Beans are not, in fact, beans, but rather they are moth larvae.

So I brought four or five moth larvae home, convinced that they were magical beans.

For a few minutes, days, or weeks, I can’t remember, we all played this lovely board game with my magical beans. It was brilliant.

Then, one morning, I wake up, as most people do on most mornings, and I decided to play my lovely board game. I was very surprised to find that the little plastic box where I kept my magic beans were full of moths.

 

Gardening

I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions, but I’m literate and I’ve got a keyboard, so I can write about gardening!

When I said, “I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions,” you probably didn’t wonder why I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions, but I will answer the question you didn’t wonder about anyway after the colon:

I am probably the least qualified person to answer your nonexistent gardening questions because I am the worst gardener I know (then again, I don’t know that many gardeners. I don’t even know that many people to begin with…). I have had many pet plants (which I mentioned in my previous post, My Pet Cactus) and all of them (other than my cactus) have suffered the same morose fate: death (in which I had a hand).

My first pet plants (that I can remember, at least) were some tomato plants that I got for my fifth-grade science fair project (“for” meaning I used the tomato plant in the science fair project. I did not get a tomato plant as a present for my science fair project. That would be idiotic, as science fair projects are inanimate objects and can thus not feel emotions, including the happiness that makes giving gifts worthwhile for some). I forgot to water these tomato plants and they shriveled up and died from neglect.

My next plants were some Morning Glories that I kept in a little terra cotta pot and grew from a seed (I grew the tomatoes from a seed as well). But once they sprouted, I kept pulling off the leaves and they eventually died. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to pull off the leaves because I wanted my Morning Glories to flourish more than anything else, and pulling off the leaves seems very counterproductive.

After that, I made a lovely fairy garden with pretty light green plants. I watered it too much and it rotted from the inside out.

Dogs

Dogs here. Dogs there. Dogs drooling on your shoe. Dogs everywhere.

Whenever I see a dog on the street, I follow my instinct-like urges to pet such cuteness, but always get a scar on some part of my body. Dogs hate me, but I love them back. It is somewhat sad that this phenomenon reminds me of my friendship with Arachnid.

Here are the stages of my relationship with dogs:

1.An elderly man (or woman) is walking down the street with an adorable dog (or dogs).

2. I swoon over DOI (dog of interest) looking at him with heart eyes, stating how adorable the dog is. This goes on for a couple of minutes.

3. I ask the elderly man (or woman) to pet her dog.

4. The owner looks at me with a lovesick sideways glance, and I repeat that I want to pet the dog, not the owner.

5. The elderly man (or woman) says, “Just pet him/her! You’ve been stalking me for hours!” (Or some other variant of the saying)

6. I pet the dog, savoring the feeling of the fluffy fur on my hands. I take some fur because I want to remember this experience forever, and proceed to walk away.

7. Then the dog bites me.

8. I feel hurt, but again, this could just be a failed sign of companionship, so I show him the proper way.

9. The elderly man (woman) gawks at me, wondering how I could master the art of dog speaking so fluently. He (or she) asks me, “What are you doing with my dog?” He (or she) is clearly jealous of the love I’m giving to his (or her) dog.

10. “Oh,” I say this the same exact way every time, “I love you, too,” Then I pat the jealous owner on the head and leave.

To be honest, I think no attention goes to the jealous dog owners. Arachnid says that taking care of dogs is a struggle, unlike her poky cactuses who don’t require much food or water to survive (this is said for both Arachnid and her cactuses). Dog owners are hardworking people, keeping a new hassle in the house just because he/she is cute and does cool tricks. So next time you spot a dog owner, make sure to give him (or her) a little pat on the head too! They really deserve it!