At first, Goldy (We do not know Goldy's sex. Everyone that knows him calls him a he, except for Z who swears it is a girl) lived in Z's room on the table next to her bed. There were two rules, 1) we don't pet fish and 2) the fish never comes out of the bowl. If, only, in the mind of a 3 year old, it could be so simple.
There was the unfortunate instance of the Clorox Clean-Up. Goldy survived that and was then moved to the kitchen so that I could monitor the goings on of the fish. Z has a stool in the kitchen so that she can be my "helper" and she would stand for
Over the summer, he had a small ant infestation and in the course of spraying the counter, I am afraid that Goldy may have gotten some residual contact with the bug spray. After a thorough cleaning of his fishy bowl, he was again replaced to the kitchen counter to continue in his swirls about his tiny world.
Later, we received Oliver. Oliver is a cat that apparently likes to drink fish and rock soup with a side of plastic plant. Every day, several times a day we were chasing Oliver away from his
After a week, I had had it, my hands smelled of catnip, the flipping cat knew all of our diversions and no one wanted to play this cat and
That is how Goldy has become the bathroom fish. He started on the back of the tank, but I decided that that was too cruel. Now he lives on the counter. And the only contact that he makes with people is when they are half naked. Or feeding him (do not be fooled. That is me, only me. I am the only apparent source of food for any single living soul in our household. Not sure how that works, but it is my job.)
They say goldfish only have a memory of about 3 seconds. Could someone explain why, every time I sit down and look over at Goldy, he looks like he is cussing me out? It's starting to really make me feel paranoid.
No comments:
Post a Comment