Monday, September 08, 2008


Or plum, to be more accurate.

You may recall that a few months ago, following the sad demise of Buddug the cat, I planted a Victoria Plum tree on her grave. I had taken the plum tree from our old house, digging it up and putting it in a large tree bag. Its roots were so wet and rotted I fully expected it to wither and die, but miraculously it survived. Even more miraculously it produced three tiny plums - perhaps in a last-ditch, stress-induced bid to procreate before dying.

Over the course of our non-summer, two of the unripe plums gave up the ghost, falling to the ground like little green bogies. The third, however, stayed put. And grew. And changed colour.

Yesterday afternoon, during one of the brief lulls in torrential rain, I noticed that the sole plum was ripe almost to bursting. In fact small insects had begun to feast upon its flesh. So I picked it, and cleaned it, and then ate it.

Despite being made almost entirely of essence of Maine Coon Cat, it tasted surprisingly good.

don't these things more normally come in pairs?

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Blogger Jo said...

Buddug would have been proud...
Great tribute James.

September 08, 2008 6:38 pm  
Blogger Stuart MacBride said...

Your plum tree's doing a damn sight better than mine. I managed to get a dozen bitter little lumps from it three years ago and bugger all since.

And I don't think plumbs come in pears, that would be unwholesome and deviant.

September 09, 2008 6:22 pm  
Blogger swallowtail said...

A gorgeous Plum. And I will be giggling about deviant pears and plumbs today. Not to mention the Main Coon Cat.

September 10, 2008 5:59 pm  

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