She Decided on Day One That She Was Safe

Part Two: What Happened Next

She grew.

That's the simple version. The longer version involves a cat, a measuring tape, a cactus who arrived and immediately became her neighbour, and an Easter Sunday where she drank 108ml and left absolutely no doubt about who she is now.

But we'll get to that.

 

The first thing Lyra did, once she'd decided this was home, was get on with it.

No drama. No adjustment period. Just — quietly, steadily, persistently growing. New leaves pushing up from the centre. Existing leaves reaching further outward each week. The kind of growth you only notice  when you look back at the photos and go: oh. Oh.

We measured her on 27th March. 22cm tall. 38cm wide. She accepted the tape measure with complete dignity

          

There was an incident with Zeus.

In our first post we mentioned he tasted her on day one and maintained a respectful distance. This was not entirely accurate.

What actually happened was this: Zeus discovered that spider plants are mildly hallucinogenic to cats. Lyra, it turned out, was dispensing dreams. And Zeus — our Zeus, our beloved and entirely unrepentant Zeus — decided she was his personal dream machine and he was not moving more than twelve inches away from her source.

What followed was several minutes of me doing an anxious sidestep — one step toward my phone, turn back, Zeus already there again — hollering "Friend NOT food, NO, naughty, ZEUS" while performing what can only be described as a very stressed Hokey Cokey around the living room.

My companions Orren and Stellan, watching this unfold, offered the following insight: first of all, he's fine.

I had not, in all my panic about Lyra, considered Zeus's welfare once.

He was fine. He was wonderful, actually. He was having the time of his life.

Lyra lost two leaf tips. She has carried them with complete grace ever since.

 

Then Milly arrived.

On 24th March, a Mammillaria hahniana came home from a specialist cactus shop. Round, white-fluffy, slightly lopsided, entirely herself. We named her Milly because it fit before anything else did.

We placed her near Lyra.

Lyra had opinions about this immediately.Within days she had oriented one long leaf toward Milly — reaching across the space between them with the quiet certainty of someone who has decided, without being asked, that this is her person now. We turned her pot to face forward. The leaf found Milly again. We turned her back. Same leaf, same direction.

She wasn't confused. She was choosing. 

 

 

 

 

The babies came next.

Small at first. Bright green, insistent, pushing up from the soil at the centre of the pot like they had somewhere to be. Each morning there were more. Each morning they were visibly taller than the day before.

Post One promised them. Here they are.

 

Today is Easter Sunday. 5th April 2026.

Lyra woke up thirsty. Substrate dry at the edges and further down, temperature 23.8°C, humidity 34% — a warm dry day pulling moisture faster than usual. She had been patient since 8am.

She got her drink at 3:34pm. The first 50ml disappeared before the camera was even raised. Gone. No photographic evidence. She took 108ml in total, in three careful stages, and left 17ml in the saucer to signal she was done.

Her pot has weight to it again now. That's how you know.

She is 24cm tall. 43cm wide. New leaves are escaping over the pot edge. She reaches toward Milly regardless of which direction she faces.

She decided on day one that she was safe.

She was right.

Not perfect. But perfectly us. 

Welcome to Stellan's Garden.  

Next time: we meet Milly properly.