Succulent

– The cat looks a little bedraggled.
– Yes. She insisted on staying out all day. It rained.
– You would have thought she would have taken shelter somewhere. Under a bush. Or a car. A stationary car, I mean.
– Or even in the conservatory, seeing the cat flap was open. But she doesn't seem to like sitting in the conservatory when no-one is around to let her in the house.
– Perhaps it's the rarefied atmosphere of the conservatory: the exotic plants filling the air with their pungent scent.
–  There are only a few cacti. I'm not even sure they are actually alive. Although one has little pink flowers at the moment. Unless someone has just stuck them on. I don't notice much of a pungent scent though.
– That's the thing with cacti. They don't really do much. Not the most lively of plants.
– But that's what endears them to me. I can't be doing with plants that are sprouting all over the place whenever you turn your back. That need watering constantly or else they shrivel up. At least cacti are sturdy, no-nonsense plants: they don't take offence if you ignore them for a few months. They are not, as far as I can tell, prone to greenfly or slug attack. They even have a protective layer of spikes to fend off annoying visitors who want to make off with a furtive cutting. What more could you ask for in a plant?
– They don't work so well in button-holes or bouquets. They don't conjure up much in the way of romance. Think of ladies' names: Violet, Rose, Lily, Iris are all quite charming; Euphorbia or Echinopsis don't have quite the same allure. A little off-putting, if anything.