or A Fateful Day
A vicious Arctic blast? No problem.
Snow and ice? Please.
Gale-force winds and sub-zero temperatures? It is to scoff.
As you may recall from a recent post, the Lady Jane tulips were more than a match for the winter storm we had a couple of weeks ago. Confronted by nastier weather than we almost ever encounter, they grew, they thrived, they flourished. They welcomed whatever Mother Nature threw at them—welcomed it and quite possibly danced a breathless tango with it. They had the fire of spring coursing through their little botanical veins, and mere weather—the weather that brought two-thirds of the country to a standstill—could not stop them.
And yet, they have since met their Waterloo:
Sir Marley. The neighbor's cat. Don't be deceived by that heavenly beam of light. It is a trick of the camera, nothing more, and an accidental trick at that. (In any case it is certainly nothing angelic.) I would like to say that Sir Marley used some brilliant Wellington-ian strategy to defeat my poor tulips, that they met their fates honorably in a battle which, really, could have gone either way. But I can't.
He sat on them.
I believe he also napped on them and may quite possibly have rolled on them, as the ground has warmed up nicely this week, and the garden is pleasantly sheltered from the wind, and napping and rolling become irresistible to cats in these circumstances. I even sympathize with him, because it really has been a gorgeous week. As someone who was not planning to celebrate spring by rolling in the dirt, however, but by reveling in the eventual sight of cheerful spring flowers, I am a little disgruntled. I do wish that pet owners would remember that they are responsible for their pets whether on or off their own property. But, since they won't, I will break out the heavy, cat-repelling artillery. (Garlic pellets, here we come.)
If you have any brilliant Wellington-ian strategies to offer I'd love to hear them...