Fleurs

Most people like getting flowers. I used to count myself among those people. Now, flowers are more work than they're worth.

When Momm first got home from the hospital, my living room looked like a funeral parlor. There were so many bouquets here, all well-intended, all pretty. The problem is that flowers create a giant mess for me to clean up, and are like Christmas and his birthday wrapped into one for Biggs.

Since Momma's been here, I've cleaned up approximately 4000 piles of leaves that fell off as the flowers died. I've also cleaned up about 100 piles of cat yack because he just can't help himself; he must eat every petal and every leaf.

I can't have the flowers anywhere but on my mantle, and even there is tricky if one of my side tables is anywhere near the mantle. He's a clever cat and it took him just under one second to figure out how to get on the table and reach up to the flowers. It took me, unfortunately, about a minute to recognize what was unfolding and stop him from taking down the whole vase.

I'd rather people sent food for Momma. I hate to cook.