This morning as I was sprinkling the sticky flakes of Beta food over fishy (name of fish) at eight o’clock I noticed something peculiar. Although he was a rare and interestingly behaved fish who had a knack for engaging in activities above the water i.e. laying on the top of his faux reef as if it were a hammock, this morning he was looking a little pale. His eyes were closed and he laid gently upon the funfetti colored rocks, apparently asleep. As I let go of the food and watched it swirl downward to the bottom of the fish tank, I knew something was terribly wrong. Normally he would dive around and about the food, eagerly anticipating the flavor, whatever flavor fish food has, and nibble until the flakes had disappeared. But on this morning he made no gesture; Fishy had passed away.
I had a small eulogy said for him as he lifelessly bobbed around my toilet. “Fishy you were a weird fish. You lived longer than any other beta fish I had ever had. I wish you had died and floated to the top of the water like a normal fish so I would have noticed you sooner. I had forgotten to feed you in the past two days; I might have your blood, if fish have blood, on my hands. I am sorry I loved my dog more than you; I hope you can understand why. Despite that, Fishy you had a small place in my heart. Go on and join your ancestors in the plumbing.”