She died a long time ago. Except that no one bothered to tell me about it.
A month after stroking her tiny pink flowers goodbye, I walked in( more like stumbled in with 2 bags) to see her withered corpse still stuck in the pot. The people who call themselves my parents shiftily turned their eyes away from my horror struck face . Apparently Fester's death does not warranty emergency phone calls or even a proper burial.
It is these incidents which scar us for life. If I wake up one day at the cruel age of 46 and scream "I can see her dried withered skeleton still clinging to the pebbles in her painted pot!!!!!", I'll be having a delayed shock reaction about Fester's painful end.
I called her Festerella after Uncle Fester from Addams family, a man who is almost endlessly fascinating. I painted her pot and almost drowned her while watering.
She was loved. I miss talking to her and counting her flowers. She was a nice plant.