Fishkill

Our last three fish expired yesterday! My original purchase, Tut - the old man of the bunch, bought six weeks ago - was found at the bottom of our glass fish-cube this morning. Arno gave me a sad look and a sympathetic pat and said, "I'm sorry, Mom."

Feeling guilty - and very aware that our fish seem to die on a predictable 2-week cycle - I cleaned the cube this afternoon. Soaped and rinsed everything thoroughly, installed a new filter, replaced about 2/3rd of the water, and returned the remaining fish, Wanda and Cheetoey, owned by Blaine and Arno, respectively, to the cube.

A clean bowl usually peps them up, but an hour later, Wanda and Cheetoey were lying together dead on the gravel at the bottom, next to the plastic turtle. I can only assume the new water was too cold for our delicate, tropical friends?

This time, no one cried. When I suggested filling the void with some plain ol' goldfish of the non-tropical variety, Lucinda, who begged me in August for some fish, said: "You can't hold them, you can't pet them. I want a hamster!"