Someone made an attempt on Gerard's life. Gerard. My aloe plant. It was ugly. I'm not pleased. Of course by someone I mean A CAT. And by A CAT, I mean, HARLEY IS SO NAUGHTY. BAD, BAD CAT.
I arrived on the scene after work yesterday - it was devastating. Gerard, my once-sort-of-thriving-almost-dead aloe plant, which was a "Hey, fun, you're moving into a shoebox of an apartment" gift from The Fiance (then, The Boyfriend), was lying face down on the floor. Its aloe arms sprawled out under him, completely un-potted from his pot. His pot, once full of dirt, ALSO face down on the floor, its contents strewn across the apartment. Which, doesn't take much because, well, my apartment is thisbig. And the pot? BIG. And dirt? LOTS OF IT.
ALL OVER THE FLOOR.
I shrieked in horror at the sight of sweet Gerard, so helpless, gasping for life. And I IMMEDIATELY turned toward Harley, who was all, "What, man?" And I was like, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." And then she started climbing walls. Chicken looked at me, like, "Dude, I didn't ask for her." And I shook my head, scrambling to save Gerard.
I grabbed a broom to sweep up Contents of Gerard's Pot, and suddenly, as if she had NO IDEA until now there was AN ENTIRE GARDEN OF DIRT on the floor, Harley decided to play. In the dirt. YAY, DIRT. She stuck her paws in, ran across the room. Came back. More pawing at dirt. I screamed, broom in hand. And she was all, "What, man?" Chicken, still perched on the desk surveying the scene, was like, "Seriously."
And in that moment, for just the tiniest of seconds, I tried to remember WHY I HAVE CATS. AND PLANTS. I came up with nothing.
I successfully re-potted Gerard, who was in surprisingly good shape considering his ALOE ARMS WERE SPRAWLED HAPHAZARDLY ACROSS MY FLOOR just minutes prior. I gave him a little water. "There, there, Gerard," I whispered. "It's OK." And shot a glare at Harley, who hid under the chair, like, "What, man?"
I swear to God, CHICKEN, still on desk, shook her head this time. And then I remembered why I love HER. I felt bad for the smallest of moments for screaming at Harley. Because, you know, she's so precious. Normally. When she's not climbing walls. Or attempting to murder Gerard. Or knocking things over. And she's all noodle-y and soft and purr-ish.
And then I turned around, and there she was, batting at Gerard's aloe arms. Gerard's aloe arms that are FRAGILE AND SCREAMING AND DAMMIT, PEOPLE, LET ME BE.
And in that moment, in that short, short moment, I stopped loving Harley. But then I totally felt bad, and got over it.