Having recently moved, I was all inspired to do a bit of redecorating, and in the process I decided it was time I got a new pet. I've been wanting one for months, but my small living space made something furry undesirable. I love dogs, and hope to finally have one of my own someday, and even considered a ferret, but the smells that accompany furry animals are not compatible with the size of my accommodation. Dogs and their odours need room to breathe, as it were.
I finally decided to revisit fish ownership, specifically a siamese fighting fish, as it's the only kind I've ever owned, they don't require much space, and they're pretty. I last owned one when I lived in a share house with 3 other girls while studying for my teaching degree. Three girls in one house? I'm sure visions of pillowfights in our lingerie are dancing through the heads of some readers, while others are shuddering at the thought of hormone-driven bitchfights with so many females under one roof.
I'll admit, there was the odd fight over cleaning duties, and the odd bitchy comment about someone's cooking, and there was the odd argument over who made which phonecall (remember the days before unlimited texts?)
And yes, there was the occasional pillow fight in our pyjamas... and the odd water fight, talcum powder fight (combining the two is NOT recommended....AHEM, Kate...), and my best friend had a suicidal tendency to try to take me down on occasion, despite being 7 inches shorter than me, at which point 'Judo Chop' was deployed (actually judo-drop-to the ground). There was the occasional knock-down-drag-out fight over some trivial domestic matter or another, but eventually we learned how to coexist peacefully.
But that's another story.
Anyway, the fish.
My best friend, Tenille, has always been a fan of The Scaly Ones. To this day she still dreams of owning a chameleon, and in the time I've known her she's had a great many fish, hermit crabs and axolotls. Some lasted a long time, some were not meant long for this earth.
I remember well The Great Fish War, in which she came back from uni one day to find some sort of massive war and cannibalism had gone on in her fish tank - it was horrific, there were bodies everywhere, including behind the chest of drawers as some attempted escape from the madness. But in general she had a very good track record.
We decided one day after we'd all moved into the share house that it was time to get fish. Tenille was really keen on getting a siamese fighting fish, and I thought they looked really funky with their bright colours and flowing fins and tails, so I agreed to get one too. The fact that they flare their fins and try to brutally maul each other whenever they see each other had a certain appeal too.
It should be noted here that at no point did we consider actually testing this out; I just liked how crotchety the species is. I have to respect such commitment to being a loner.
I chose a pale blue fish. He was little compared to Tenille's fish, but I thought he was cute. I named him Zhaan after the blue alien in Farscape, which we had recently started watching. (I know Zhaan is a female character, but it's a fish. Deal with it.)
Two days later, I found Zhaan floating all manky-like in his bowl. We held a beautiful funerial ceremony for him over the toilet bowl and I headed back to the pet shop.
I'm not some heartless monster; I was in mourning. But I'd just bought this fishbowl... I was a uni student - this was a considerable investment of funds at the time.
I chose a blue-red fish whom I named Beatle (pronounced Beeattle, like in Help!). He was big and burly and looked like a survivor - the Rambo of siamese fighting fish.
Unfortunately, he proved to be the Steve McQueen of siamese fighting fish.
He was a jumper, and no matter how I tried to find ways to keep him in his bowl, he had a will to be free. Or he had a will to make it across to the far side of the cabinet to take out the enemy fish... At any rate, he made several escape attempts over the next few weeks which were thwarted at every turn. While Tenille's fish swam docile and content in his bowl, Beatle did everything he could to strike out for greener, drier pastures.
He finally made a desperate bid for freedom one evening while we were cleaning their bowls. I'd transplanted him to a temporary bowl of water while I cleaned his. He saw I was distracted by my task and seized the opportunity to make his last best escape attempt. He leapt from the bowl, and somehow managed to make it the 30cm from his bowl to the sink.
I lunged for him, horrified, but he desperately wiggled his way to the drain, somehow managed to worm his way through the grating and was gone.
"Beatle, nooooooooooooooooooo...." I screamed fruitlessly down the drain. Observers claim is reminded them of the moment Luke finds out Darth Vader is his father. It wasn't true. It wasn't possible.
But it was. I never saw him again.
I like to think he made it, Nemo-style, and that somewhere out there his descendants are still telling the story of his great escape.
Meanwhile, the newest addition, Experiment 626, is still happily living out his days in his bowl, and alive. Frabjous.
No comments:
Post a Comment