We are now a house without pets. The last goldfish passed recently, ending a five or so year stretch where were had a dog, two cats, a hamster, two rabbits, a hermit crab, 3 birds, and four fish. My children, really aren’t pet kids. They love the idea of the animal, but aren’t really into the whole taking care of the animal. So, a few years ago, Jennie and I established a DNR policy on pets. If they die, DO NOT REPLACE!
They have died, one by one, of natural causes, of course. I didn’t kill them. The dog died young of liver failure. The cats ran away together, last seen on Christmas Eve 2009. One rabbit, Princess, killed its hutchmate, CuddleBuns. (Apparently, rabbits will do that. Who knew?) Princess died two years later thanks to a poorly chosen escape route. Zachary tried to take care of a bird. After 3 died in two weeks, Petco suggested he try a slightly hardier companion, like a pet rock. Some lived well beyond the life expectancy for their species. That hamster that Thomas got in first grade was 4 years old when it passed. The hermit crab had the same longevity. And most of our goldfish lived long and got big.
The last living pet was a goldfish. I don’t recall its name and I am not about to ask Thomas what it was. The fish tank is in Thomas and Maddie’s room, but that fish has been dead for weeks and they still have no clue. So, for now I shall call it Fishy. Two or three years ago we were wandering through the carnival at the Weedsport Field Days. Thomas wanted to win a fish. The boy came nowhere near sinking a ping pong ball into a bowl, but the female carny leaned over, gave him a ticket, and said, “Come back later and I’ll give you a fish.” A free prize at a carnival? Such an auspicious start.
Other than that, there wasn’t much unique about Fishy. The tank was in the kid’s room between the bed and the door and didn’t command much attention. Despite having the tank to herself for the past year, Fishy didn't seem to grow much. Every night, when I put the kids to bed, I’d drop some food in the water and watch her come to the surface to nibble. I’m guessing we, okay, I, bought the wrong type of vacation feeder, because when we returned from our 12 day trip west, Fishy was pushing up water lilies.
No doubt about it and clearly, Fishy had died some time ago. There was no gold to be seen. I think I could faintly see bones, but mostly it was just a grey fish shaped mass. Narrow at one end, and getting wider toward the other, the thick end was punctuated with Fishy’s big, black eye, bringing to mind one of my all-time favorite movie lines. Capt. Quint in the movie Jaws, in his gruff old fisherman voice, describing the eyes of a shark:
"Another thing about a shark is it has got lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes.”
All fish are like that. No pupils. No eyebrows for emotion. Just staring. This feature being part of a fish's appeal, but also slightly vexing. Fishy couldn't 'speak' with its eyes like a dog or a human. I would expect to see something sad in its lifeless body, her eye looking out, saying “Why me? I am all that is left of the life and love that once filled this tank.”
I left Fishy there for over a week after we returned home. The kids didn’t know and could probably graduate from college and still have no clue that the fish had died a decade earlier. So, I let it be to avoid any unnecessary drama. Today, with Thomas and Madeline out of the house I could take care of the dirty work.
The scoopy net was nowhere to be found. Taking one last look at Fishy in her watery grave and Fishy coldly staring back, pitcher by pitcher I began to empty the water from the tank in order to get low enough to scoop out the remains. Three pitchers full later, I stopped to check on Fishy. She was gone. Thinking Fishy had drifted from the current, I scanned the tank. Nothing. Flicked on the lights. I looked closer,checking every corner. Looked behind the plastic anemone! Around the treasure chest! That fish was no where to be seen.
But then, something caught my eye back where Fishy had previously come to rest. I thought it was a rock, but no. The eye. Small, black, round. It was still there. Fishy had dissolved into the water. Her grey ghostly appearance had turned into an actual ghost. Casting off the physical limitations of this world, Fishy had moved on to the spirit world. Her body was just gone.
Except for the eye. It just looked at me. But now, as I looked closely into at it and reflected on the life of Fishy, I think, finally it WAS speaking to me. I leaned in, and I could hear it say, “You bought the wrong food, dumbass.”
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