Pointed Philosophy

This little guy sits on my window sill, utterly unassuming and modest. No bigger than a tangerine, his growth over the two years I've had him has been, shall we say, glacial. But, oh! What a fine crop of prickly, perforating weaponry he displays.

Don't mess with me, he says.

Don't tread on me, he warns.

No cuddle zone, he informs.

You know any people like that? The ones who are so afraid of being stabbed, they are constantly stabbing first, thus bringing on the very thing against which they thought they were defending. Terribly frustrating people to be around, especially if they happen to be people you like.

So I keep this little bristle-britches character around even though he does not do the touchy-feely scene. Just like the porcupine people I know, he has beauty and value and I can only accept him as he is. To do otherwise will simply be damaging to me and I tend to frown upon personal damage.

However healthy they may be for the rest of us, hugs don't necessarily benefit some creatures. Perhaps all their spiny spears will fall off if they go around hugging -- and then they would be defenseless.

(Insert startled blinking.) What's going on here? I take a simple picture of a totally ordinary little cactus and all of a sudden I'm practicing Ashleigh Brilliant philosophy without a license. Maybe it's what I've always suspected -- cacti are really alien life forms and even tinfoil hats will not protect against the influence of their mental rays.

That's why I drink so much coffee, you know. Caffeine is a natural cacti-oxidant at the synaptic level. Really.