I’ve been trying to kill a goldfish for the last six months.
You see, once upon a time, Charlotte wanted a goldfish, and we bought your garden-variety golden fantail type 89-cent goldfish at the pet shop, put him in a little fishbowl, and set it on the mantle. And he (or she, who can tell) lived like that for a while until I read some online screed about how keeping goldfish in fishbowls was cruel and unusual punishment and he really should be in a proper aquarium with a bubbler and brightly-colored gravel and some bit of sculpture and all that, plus another fish to give him someone to talk to. So, filled with guilt, I bought all that stuff. Then, as it must happen to all living things, the goldfish died and we went through a phase of several successors in the aquarium, none of whom lasted very long.
After this Parade of Piscicide, the population of said aquarium stabilized with the acquisition of a black pop-eyed fantail we named Eye-gor and a tri-colored one we called Patches. And so they lived happily ever after, despite near total neglect from us, until Patches could stand it no more and shuffled off his mortal coil right around Christmas last year. Since whatever interest Charlotte ever had in owning a goldfish had evaporated like the water in the aquarium a long, long, long time ago, and since neither Bridget nor I really had much interest in the care and maintenance of the fish tank, I decided that I would let Eye-gor go the way of all things, too.
Except Eye-gor decided otherwise and hung on against all odds ever since, despite an ever-dwindling amount of water in his tank and having to subsist on whatever bits of fish food detritus remained in the bottom of it. For six months, I have looked at that tank every day hoping to see his little black fins floating at the top of the puddle-like bit of water, and have been greeted with his swimming about as though nothing was going on.
So this week we finally relented. Any fish that could last that long, by gum, was a survivor of the first degree and deserved to live. We refilled the tank, detoxed the water, replaced the filter, and surrendered to the Amazing Eye-gor, The Invincible Fish. He swam around like a man freed from solitary confinement, exploring his refilled home as if for the first time. Humbled, Bridget and I agreed we would give Eye-gor the respect he clearly deserved.
Yesterday morning, Charlotte decided that since Eye-gor had not been fed for so long that it would be a good idea to dump the entire contents of a container of fish food into the tank. And now he is dead. Killed not by neglect but by kindness. Sic transit gloria mundi.
Apparently fish are harder to kill than I thought. Check out this creepy video:
Did I mention we’re getting a new kitten this weekend?
You’re only lucky this didn’t happen: http://www.twolumps.net/d/20100628.html
We took the light armor away from the pets a looooong time ago.
Apparently, if that video is any indication of life force, you’ll be able to cut that kitten in half and get a twofer.
Horrifying. You think they went ahead and ate the fish after that?