The Love story of Peperomis and Begonia

Another chapter from A Cat's Tale — this is the tale about two plants that lived in my loft

Now that I am a cat, though I was once a human, it never fails to amaze me with what callous complexity the human mind works. I speak here of course of my human, who, though often right in tune with his true instincts, and the workings of nature, is equally as often stupid, blind, and counter to himself and his better parts. We cats might do things that hurt us, but it is out of sheer unknowingness, as for instance we may come too close to fire, not realizing that it will singe our whiskers or our tail. But humans will do the same thing, only they know that the fire will singe them or burn them or kill them. Yet they will act contrary to all their knowledge, and then they will wonder how it is that they have become burnt. And they will become black with anger not at their own stupidity but rather at the fire for having the power to burn them, even though that is the true nature of the fire, and it is only doing what is its necessity. All of this, is by way of a prelude to a sad affair that caused much grief and much pain.

Many plants live in the great loft along with me and Mugs and my human. And when one considers the conditions of city life, of how much there is of dust and noxious fumes, and of how the cold creeps in in the winter, and how hot the heat can get in the summer, one must be proud that they pretty much all do so well, growing here and there. With some of the plants my relationship is not very good, for they do not trust me.

I cannot but help myself from chewing on the sweet fronds of the ponytail palm. And it doesn’t like that at all, being exceedingly vain of its looks.

“O cat,” wails the palm, “cat (for it refuses to call me by my name which possibly only makes me want to nibble on it all the more) see how ugly you make me look, turning my beautiful green fronds brown at the edges. It isn’t fair. If you would only leave me alone, I could vegetate in my beauty, and your human could be truly proud of owning me.”

To this I only snicker, knowing full well that it only wishes to look beautiful for itself, and has no need to make my human feel good. All it cares for from him is that he waters it. Some of the other plants agree with me, for they also think the palm the vainest plant in the loft.

Of the plants that lived together in the summer room, by far the happiest were Peperomis and Begonia, who had the good fortune of living in the same pot, and loving each other exceedingly. They had not always lived together. When they first came to live here, they were in separate pots, but being placed close together, they had gotten to know each other, and from this knowledge a great love had grown up between them.

One winter, Peperomis got very ill, and my human was very upset, not knowing what to do. He thought perhaps that he had over watered it, and that it was dying of rot. Not much was left of poor Peperomis, and my human gave up on him. Thinking him quite dead, he took some of Begonia and stuck her in that pot. And lo and behold, when spring came with her sweet breath, Peperomis recovered and bloomed forth. My human thought perhaps that it was merely the cycle of the seasons that had brought him back to life, but I knew better.

And so the two bloomed together, wrapped in the aura of wonderful love. They would whisper to each other all day long, and they would sleep nestled in each other’s leaves. So happy.

Now another winter came, and in the great dryness that overtakes us all from the steam heat, Begonia caught the bug. The family from whence she came got it very very badly. So much so, that my human transferred them to the wood shop so that they would not infect anyone else. And when he saw that Begonia had it too, he took the whole pot and put them in the woodshop too. But at least he left Peperomis and her together.

Peperomis was very unhappy to see his lady languishing so. “O my dearest dearest Begonia, if it comes about that the bug carries you off from me, I too shall die, for you are my living half, and without you I cannot live.”

Now the weather got warmer, and yet the bug survived. And one day my human came and looked at the sick plants. I sat and watched. And he decided that he would put those that were sick out on the roof, hoping perhaps that the rain and the sun and the wind would perhaps cure them. He took up Peperomis and Begonia, and not seeing any illness attaching itself to Peperomis, he wrenched Begonia out of the pot and stuck her in with her dying relatives. “Ai, ai my love, my love, all is lost,” cried Begonia. Of course our human could not hear the shrieking and wailing as the lovers were torn apart. But I could and I did a wild dance about him, hoping perhaps that he would understand, but also a little hopelessly, knowing how stupid humans could often be.

So Begonia was put out on the roof, left to die, and Peperomis was placed in the winter room where my human thought he would be better off, warmed by long afternoons of the western sun. But Peperomis languished and wilted. “O Mishmish,” he would groan, “how is my Begonia? How I long to lay leaf upon her delicate downy leaf. Please go Mishmish and see for me how she is. Does she still live?”

Off I would go to the roof, and see how she was. What a terrible sight it was too. The whole tribe of them, sick and dying, groaning in the heat, and she, still strong, would wail to me. “Mishmish, how is my Peperomis, does he still love me, is he strong and well? O I fear that I am done with here. See how my poor tribe dies from the bug. Go and bring this message to my Peperomis. Say to him that he must live and be strong to love another, that it is nature’s way. And that he must live to relate our great love for each other so that something of us will survive and be a symbol to the other plants.”

Then I would go to Peperomis and tell him what Begonia had said. And I would try to cheer him up. The great horned cactus who stood close by, who the summer before had lost two flowers before they bloomed, would say to Peperomis, “Be strong, be strong, for this is nature’s way. You must survive.” But there were many other plants that wept openly and could not be strong in example to Peperomis.

I worked on my human to make him see the folly of his ways. But in vain. And now the tribe of Begonia were dead, though she still survived. For the power of her love made her almost immune to the bug. Now finally it happened that my human was on a tour of plant inspection, cleaning the leaves, moving them about. And when he came to Peperomis he saw that he was not at all well.

“What ails you, why do you not flourish?” he asked. “Do I give you too much water, too much sun?”

Now all the plants along with me concentrated on giving him the thought. I danced about him, and he noticed me, and I scooted off to the roof. And so he followed. He came upon the lost tribe, and seeing that Begonia was still alive, he took her in his fingers and picked her up away from death, and brought her back to Peperomis.

“Now,” he said, “you two will flourish together as you did before.”

Such joy, such happiness when the two were reunited as before. All the plants, from the scheffeleria to the cactuses and the palms and the spider plants cried loudly their joy at seeing the two united again. Never had they seen two plants who so loved each other.

"O my Peperomis," cried Begonia, rubbing her soft downy leaf along his leaves. How I have missed you. Being away from you was the loneliest time of my life. Had it not been for Mishmish I would have died long ago. But she brought me much hope that I would see you again and that you were well."

"O Begonia," replied Peperomis, "I too should have died had it not been for the great Mishmish, the messenger of our love." He coughed a bit. It was obvious that he was not well. He too had caught the bug.

The bug was very tough and refused to leave Begonia. There were no other soft fleshed leafy plants around that this nasty white fungus enjoyed dining on. Even though many of the other plants would have been willing to sacrifice themselves for the great love of Peperomis and Begonia. It was their separation that had so weakened the two that they had no resistance to fend off the white fungy. When our human saw once again that they were both ailing, he moved them out to the roof, with the vain hope that the sun and the moon and the wind and the rain would cure them. they were beyond insecticides, he thought, as this kind of fungy could only be killed by systemics, and these small plants had gone too far and were almost covered in the fungy.

Each day, I would run out on the roof to visit them and see how they were doing. They were very weak, but happy that they had each other. I would give a daily report to all the other plants, and they would all drop tears along their fronds and leaves.

Finally, I came out on to the roof one morning and found the two leaf enwrapped with leaf. The life had gone out of them. There their little bodies stayed till the sun and the wind had so dried them up that they just blew away. and so ends the great love story of Peperomis and Begonia.