About a month ago, I got two fish.  

Libby, my office neighbor, and I had discussed the idea of getting a couple of betas.  We have tons of ivy plans around the office.  The school decorates our offices lavishly with potted plants to help us forget the fact that we work in a kind of dingy basement with no natural light.  Anyway, we thought that we’d grab a couple of fish and plop them into some ivy jars, creating a self-contained little universe for our very own desk-top entertainment.  

I dragged Zack down to the local PetSmart and we picked out two fish.  I didn’t bother to get any fish food because the Ivy roots were already all prepped for the fish.  All we needed to do was add a couple of chlorine drops and move on, right?

Before I hauled the fish to the office, (but after I purchased them), I decided I should do a little online research about how it is that a fish could actually live in a jar for his whole life and never require my attention.  One google search revealed to me that I had been grossly mistaken about the idea that the Betas could live in a jar with ivy.  Apparently, that’s cruel, inhumane, and I’m actually going to hell now, just because I bought them with that intention.  Beta fish are carnivores, the website told me, and they only eat the growth on roots when they are STARVING TO DEATH, emphasis theirs.  Fish are real animals, it continued, and you should treat them just like you’d treat any other animal.  It informed me that if your fish starts to act like it doesn’t feel good, you should take it to the vet, just like you would a dog or a cat.

(Which made me wonder, do fish need shots? Totally not the point though.)

So although I wouldn’t go as far as to take my fish to the vet, I would say that I became a more conscious fish owner than I had previously been.  My previous fish track record, in case you’re wondering, is as follows: 3 goldfish at the age of 10, one of which was named after my cousin Heather, (the others I can’t remember), and all 3 of which were dead within 2 weeks, probably due to over feeding.  2004 brought me 1 beta named Pablo, dead within 10 minutes (temperature shock?).  And in the summer of 2006 I bought 2 goldfish, one black fish called Das Boot (I got him the day I got my cast/boot off after I broke my ankle), and the other named Double Vision, so named because he only had one eye.  Das Boot and Double Vision both lived for much longer than any other fish that I’d ever owned, and that was true for the following reason: I didn’t ever do anything for them.  Das Boot lived in a tank with several other (bubble faced) gold fish that were cared for by my fish-loving then-roommate, Naomi.  Naomi was something of a fish goddess and was capable of keeping fish alive for longer than anyone that I’ve ever known.  Girl had more fish skillz than Rob Schnider in Deuce Bigalow Male Gigalo.  Double Vision live(s/ed) in a large outdoor tank at Camp Eagle, where he has lived a long and happy life, and if he is still alive, I’m very happy for him.  He’s well fed, because the tank really is large enough to create the pseudo-ecosystem that can sustain plant and animal life.  Also, he was a goldfish, and apparently goldfish aren’t as into steak as Betas. 

Okay. So that’s my track record. Left to my own power, I’ve never kept a fish alive for more than 2 weeks, and left under Naomi’s care, Das Boot grew to be old and grey and one day died of fish old age or cancer or something, I’m not 100% sure, because I didn’t have the vet do an autopsy. BECAUSE I AM NOT CRAZY. 

So there I was, computer in lap, thinking, “Damn.  This is going to be more work than it’s worth.”  But what could I do? I mean, I’d already invested $6.00 into these fish, and I wasn’t about to just QUIT.  So I found some little stone type things, and I de-chlorinated some water, and then I let that water adjust to room temperature, and I all of the sudden had 4 mouths to feed every morning.  Dog, Cat, Redfish, Bluefish.  Welcome to the crazy pet lady’s house. 

Eventually I moved one of the fish to my office, and I have been infinitely entertained by counting the days that go in which nobody notices that I have a live creature hanging out with me all the time.  Because I’m often bored at work, I spend a lot of time hanging out with Redfish Workfish.  He’s a very relaxed fish.  When I get to work in the mornings, he happily swims to the side of his bowl (which has a handle, which is why he lives at work, because he was easier to carry than bluefish.  See how Zack’s practicality is rubbing off on me?) and greets me.  He slowly waves at me with his fins until I drop a few pellets of food into his world, and he gobbles them up, crunching happily. (Yes. Crunching. Really.) 

So today, when I came home from work, I wandered up to say hello to Bluefish Homefish.  I’m pretty sure that I forgot to feed him this morning, and so I reached behind his bowl (vase?) to grab his food.  And that’s when he FREAKED THE CRAP OUT.  He did about 35 frantic laps around his bowl, right on the surface of the water, causing wakes and splashing and commotion, and I was like WHAT THE EFF? I swear, he was making motor boat sounds, and laughing like a maniac.  I said, “DUDE. CALM DOWN.” And I dropped in some food for him, and he continued to go through regular intervals of HOLY CRAP and eerie, eerie silence. 

Walking away from him, I started to ponder the difference between Redfish Workfish and Bluefish Homefish.  Redfish is so calm, I thought, compared to Bluefish, who has always been really active and mostly neurotic. 

And then I realized that I was pondering my fish’s personalities.  Not only am I the kind of person that sits around hanging out with fish all day, I’m the kind that thinks about who they are as fish.  I feel like I’ve progressed far beyond the kind of people who would take their fish to the vet.  Oh no, not just the vet for me! I wonder about their feeeeelings.  I’ve lost it.  I’m a crazy fish lady, and my fish are probably behind on their shots.