I have a lot of blood on my hands.
I am the black widow of the kingdom Pisces.
My house is a chamber of death.
It’s been a little over a year now since we’ve been trying to keep fish as pets in our house. And it’s been a little over a year of epic failures, some worse than others, some downright mind-boggling.
First there was Pablo, he lasted the longest at a month. Then came Uniqua, a life so short I didn’t even recall her. Next was my favorite trio: Melo, Shump and Paul George, all-stars on the hardwood, not so much in my fish bowl. Their demise was a blow, as I really believed their names would ensure some good karma. Continuing with this line of thinking, we brought home Kanye West.
No fucking way anything named Kanye West is leaving this life early.
Ha! What a fool I was – I don’t believe Kanye lasted a week.
It was around this time that The Husband washed his hands of the fish, convinced I am cursed; to this day, he wants nothing to do with my bad fish juju. The Step-Daughter keeps an amused distance, most likely wondering what all the fuss is about. The Babysitter wonders what the hell is wrong with us, but in her very sweet way, suggesting maybe it’s the water.
Ha! She knows it’s not the water.
So about a month ago, The Kid came home with two freebies from the pet store in our neighborhood. Promptly placing them in a plastic bowl, he advised me to keep my distance from Shanaye and Bash, he and The Babysitter had everything under control. Bash was a floater the next morning and I think Shanaye lasted maybe forty hours more.
I swear I didn’t touch them, but I did look in their direction a few times.
Then he went back, I kid you not, and brought home Lebron and D Wade. Why did I allow this? I couldn’t even begin to tell you. I suppose mostly because I am a glutton for punishment. Or I foolishly believe that one of these fish will survive. That this time, it’ll all work out.
If I recall correctly, Lebron lasted two days.
These deaths are actually quite burdensome, I hate thinking of myself as a killer. Of anything.
Okay, maybe not rats and roaches, but pretty much anything else dying on my watch bothers me. I am the same girl who has shed days of tears over gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, and rabbits. I still have not recovered from Suge’s passing.
But I digress.
Where was I? Oh yeah, punk ass Lebron. His death took me over the edge and I finally did what I should have done a long time ago: messaged Michael, a friend from high school who has mad fish skills, loads of awesomely good fish juju and just generally knows his shit.
He told me fish are tough to keep alive, especially when kept in a simple bowl, but was nonetheless amazed by my fish-killing skills, gave me the down low on keeping goldfish alive, recommended a tank set-up for me, and wished me, and the poor fish, good luck.
I went on Amazon and bought the tank right away, then crossed my fingers and hoped D Wade would live long enough to see his new home.
And guess what? He did.
He’s actually been alive, along with his new friend, Chris Paul, under my care for almost three weeks now. Believe it or not, the two of them look freaking happy and spry. And I finally feel like I might not be such a monster after all. That it might be time to shed the fish-killer cape I donned about a year ago.
So thanks, Michael.
D Wade, Chris Paul, and I owe you one.
The gold one is Chris Paul and D Wade is the little, yellow dude
We got this, bitches!