I put up with plenty of abuse from our cranky cat, Gus, on whom I lavish attention and Fancy Feast but who occasionally bites me on the ankle for no reason. But I don't have a lot of patience to spend on houseplants. In our home, where we like to keep clutter to a minimum, plants are subjected to stringent style standards. Indoor plants, by my way of thinking, are first and foremost decorative accessories. So if they're droopy, or if they've stopped blooming or have lost their fresh green color, it's time for them to go.
Sick plants are bad feng shui .
It's just that our compact brick colonial has no space to spare for a plant convalescent ward. There can be no windowsills lined with dusty saucers holding sick and ugly plants. When your time comes, clivia or hydrangea, it's head-first into the Super Can. Plants connect us to the world outside, and they should represent the best of that world. I'd rather buy a dozen fresh-cut tulips every week than look at a bloomless, shriveled orchid stem that has little hope of rejuvenation.