I don't have any plants in my house.
See, I have a hard time keeping them alive. My mother has a green thumb -- anything that turns up in her house flourishes, almost like magic. But me? I seem to have a brown thumb. If it turns up in my house, you're just being mean to a plant.
I would love for that to be different. It'd be nice to have something alive around. But if I remember to water it, at some point it'll get knocked off its shelf. Or kicked. Or I'll use Windex too close to the thing. Bottom line is that I can be as attentive as necessary and it still won't work out. [I've even killed a cactus. It's awful.]
The next catch?
I am also allergic to furry things. It's not a debilitating allergy, but between that and the fact that I'm a perpetual renter, it's enough to prevent me from owning a cat or a dog. And while I went through a fish phase in college (at the time, it was a rite of passage), fish aren't cuddly or particularly fun.
Also, then there are bowls of water to be knocked over. *Sigh.*
The good news is that I am prevented from becoming the proverbial crazy cat lady. The bad news is ... no pets for Ashley.
Well, until my parents go out of town for a few days. Then I get to catsit for Edgar, the ridiculously photogenic psycho kitty.
And it's awesome. I trade the contacts for glasses for a few days, cope with him deciding to sleep on my head at night, and in exchange I get to be amused by a cat that follows me around the house and will actually sit for a treat. (I'm serious.) Or for that matter, tries to warm himself on my laptop while I write.
Turns out my best answer is a temporary cat.
Now, if I could deal with the fact that I have the sudden urge to order Chinese food and watch bad romantic comedies...