Why, thank-you for asking. I tote the cactus around because.
The poor thing is subjected to a lunatic life. No plant should ever have to endure the noise, the vibration, the utter inability to guess where the sun is going to be coming in from, the wide temperature extremes, the wind (with Chloe's bullet-proof CHT gauge readings, the wind this year is up past 60 mph), the chemical aerosols, the nationally diverse bug attacks and godknowswhat pollens and molds, the sometimes brutally sudden changes in temperature from 110* to an air-conditioned room at 72* in the span of three seconds, and yet, I have learned that the plant actually likes this life for reasons I cannot fathom. It stands taller than any Christmas Cactus I know of, because it had to grow in the wind. Every "leaf" knows damn well it may be called upon to provide photosynthesis at a moment's notice, so they all are equal in their color and every guess they may make as to which way to grow is answered by some dose of sun at some point.
Thus, the cactus serves as a metaphor for my life. Healthy-but-startled.