As many Gazette readers may know, I am not the greatest gardener in the world. In fact, I think it's fair to say that GG's famed green thumb has not made it to my double-helixes. But along the years, there has been one plant that I have not managed to kill, and that is Steve-o. A six year old jade plant with extra-pottery aspirations and a kind sense of humor (he always laughed at my only real plant joke, "My, you're looking succulent today, Steve-o") has been with me through thick and thin. He loved my fourth grade classroom (it makes sense that any plant that lives with me would thrive on chaos) and equally loved communing with Amelia and Susan on his previous perch right next to the cats' food dish.
Having always reached for the window wherever he was, Mike and I thought it might be nice to set him outside in the recent unseasonable February warmth. But Angelina Jolie was right, and Quod Steve-o nutrit Steve-o destruit. I walked by the window yesterday to see a squirrel sitting in Steve-o's pot, eating the last of his succulent leaves. I was heartbroken. Mike has brought his pot in and watered the dirt in the hopes that Steve-o will reemerge like the phoenix, and I certainly wouldn't put it past him, but for the time being, I root for the cats on their quest for squirrel blood vengeance.
Steven "Steve-o" Grinter, we will miss you.
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