My day, this very day upon which I am writing this right this minute, started out in a very odd way. Rufus had a kinderfarter's parent breakfast that ran from 7-7:45 AM. I set the alarm for 6:20. It went off. Outside, a wonderful, beautiful, loverly thunderstorm was growling and the rain was pouring down. I looked at Goozie, who had slept SEVEN HOURS between feedings (YEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHAAWWWWW!) and thought, "what will 5 minutes hurt?"
I woke up at 7:38.
So in a personal best time, I had children dressed and backpacks packed in 7 minutes flat. We had 5 minutes to cram a poptart in each sleepy face and run out the door.
The fish tank (that would be tank #2, thank you) is by the kitchen, so after opening those fresh, nutritious little silver packets of chocolate fudge flavored chemicals, I turned on the light in the tank to see what had died in the night. Something must die every night between midnight and 6 AM. It's how we sacrifice to the karma gods.
Upon inspection, the two albino catfish glared out at me in their creepy bug-eyed way. The big old fat algea eater ignored me. Where was Fred? Where was my little swimming dragon, the only fish that I got to pick? He hides pretty well in the back of the tank, under the plants, so I looked and looked but wasn't completely surprised that I didn't see him. I had seen him last night when I fed them little buggers and then CLOSED THE TANK LID. Remember that last part, because it's about to get real important.
So I stepped back to see how the choco-spacefood were being devoured and I noticed the cat...who was under the buffet...next to the fish tank...and who was having a grand time with what looked like a long, skinny hairball.
GOOD GOD IT WAS FRED! He had somehow transformed into Super Flying Fred in the night and lifted that LID that I had CLOSED and catapulted himself out of his watery cage and into the FREEDOM OF THE OPEN RANGE! God Bless Fred. He is a visionary and a pioneer in the fight for freedom.
Unfortunately, he seemed to have forgotten that Regular Fred, the Pre-Super Flying Fred version of himself, could not survive out of the tank. My poor Fred! He had listened to his Mama, who promised him, "You can do ANYTHING you put your mind to, you slimy little crapper!" and he had worked and planned and even packed a lunch and NOW look where it had landed him: the dust and hair-covered plaything of a giant, useless, turd factory cat. Where is the cosmic justice in that?
So I bent down to retrieve the body and IT MOVED. FRED WAS ALIVE! There was no water on the floor, his skin/scale/stuff was dry...how long had he been on the floor? Indeed, he IS a super fish!
Poor thing. He was moving but he was all dried up like a piece of fish jerky. He looked just like Joan Rivers.
So with no time to spare, I dropped that little crispy back into the tank. He swam/floated/spasmed down to the bottom. Thus began the death watch.
All his fins are still intact. He still has his beady eyes. He seems to have reconstituted some, like a Pringles chip left in a puddle of Big Red. He has even moved around the tank a little, in a sort of hesitant way, like now he is scared that any purposeful forward movement will somehow send him through an invisible plasma and back to the world of those big, stinking vulture-cats.
That was 10 hours ago, and he is still alive.
