Yesterday, I woke up to an absolutely beautiful spring morning, only to go downstairs and discover our pet betta fish, Jimmy John, face down in the gravel at the bottom of his tank. I feel responsible; just the day before I taunted fate by congratulating myself on keeping him alive for two months straight.
I wanted to subtly and quickly let Jay know about Jimmy's demise before WCK discovered the body, but he was in the bathroom. I didn't want to yell, "THE FISH IS DEAD!!" through the bathroom door. What to do? I found a scrap of paper and wrote, "Jimmy John is no longer with us", and then drew a picture of a fish with a big X for an eye and a sad face, to better illustrate my point, and then I slipped it under the door.
WCK cried for a while after we broke the news to her, but then she helped me wrap JJ in a little paper-towel shroud and bury him in the back yard. For some reason, flushing just seemed a little cold-hearted. I actually miss that little guy.
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