Today Ashley and I went to Petsmart and got two new additions for the fish tank. One is a white, orange, and black calico whom Ash has named Jackie O, and the other is an orange fantail whom she christened Mr. Belvedere, after rejecting several names, including Fat Louie and The Madness of King George. They’re both larger than the two surviving comets, Stevietta and Cool Hand Luke, but they seem to be getting along well so far.
Ashley told me she knew the girl who worked in the fish section. Apparently, the girl went to Ashley’s parents’ church, and her brother’s wife was accused of child abuse. How sordid.
Wikipedia says well-tended goldfish can live an average of eight or nine years, with a maximum of around 20. Right now I’d settle for a few weeks. Just long enough so I won’t dread looking in the tank for the first time every day. There’s also a fish called a Jaguar, which is aware of what goes on outside the tank, and can develop a connection with its owner, like a dog. That sounds like a badass fish, but I don’t think I’m quite ready yet. They say goldfish are the hardiest of the bunch, so let me figure out how to keep them alive first, then I’ll start saving up for that 1800 gallon tank. But where would I put it? And what would I do if Arnold Schwarzenegger shot at it and shattered it? I’d need a spare tank, wouldn’t I? Shit.