They Eat Roses, Don't They?

Last Edit October 8, 1999

I got one dozen red roses.
Because.
And I put them in a big vase.
Read 1 gallon of water.
Heavy.
I trimmed their stems.
With my new Ginzu knife.
I set them on a table.
Solid.
I went to work.
I came home.
Something is very wrong here.
It took a minute.
Ooops.
The rose vase is on its side.
The chair - pillow and BSA Uniforms - are wet.
The new wall to wall carpet is very wet.
The roses are drooping.
Been too long out of water.
I shriek.
I am very good at that.
They have scored.
My cats, that is.
They had hunted the roses for days.
They had tipped over a smaller vase.
They had chewed the flowers.
The leaves.
The ferns.
They have obviously succeeded.
I mop.
I put wet things in e washer.
I refilled the vase.
I put towels down.
I powered up a big fan.
The Bissel is elsewhere - of course - not here where it is needed.
It is with my child - my other child.
I get to have storm damage with out the storm.
I re-trim the stems.
No luck.
They droop.
The roses, not the cats.
So I cut their heads of..
The roses, not the cats.
I float them in a bowl.
A wide, low bowl.
With their ferms.
The remaining ones.
Pretty.
The cats lap the water.
I find Little Bit (who has been renamed Little Shit) head into the vase holding some cut ivy.
No fun with the roses - go for the ivy.
It's not like they don't have water dishes.
Two.
And toilet bowls.
Two.
(I know they do this - I am constantly wiping cat paw prints off of toilet seats.)
So why my roses?
I can see that the next time (Oh yes my sons - Momma wants FLOWERS), I will lock them in my bedroom.
The roses, not the cats.