peevish mama

I would wager that there exists a non-negligible percentage of the population who come to pet ownership as a direct result of end-of-the-year class room pet cast offs. Our family was just “gifted” with room 201’s guppies – unnamed at the time of acquisition because of the fact that their predecessors had met an untimely demise. I am not a pet kind of gal – allergies, squeamishness, etc. – and I felt slightly queasy as I got a hasty tutorial from Supergirl’s kindergarten teacher on how best not to kill them. I’m not sure if I felt better or worse about the fact that the two deceased fish were drying out nicely on a tray in the nature corner for all to examine and enjoy. I hear they have a lot of nitrogen in their bodies and will soon be introduced into the teacher’s garden – circle of life and all that. At least Supergirl will know what to do when Pearl and Pingo inevitably move on to fresher waters. As I drove home with them sloshing around in a ziplock bag in the front seat of my minivan, I found myself closing the sunroof so they wouldn’t get sunstroke, turning down the air conditioner so they wouldn’t get chilled, turning down the music so they wouldn’t get overstimulated. I felt less nervous bringing my eight pound first born child home from the hospital. 

We must have done the water temperature and dechlorination thing moderately well because they lived through the night. Pearl has been swimming around with a long piece of poo sticking out of her abdomen, much to everyone’s delight. At least she is passing her bowels – a sign of good health to be certain. I’m not sure how I feel about these creatures. Their tenous hold on life does little to endear them to me. And their poo, well, I don’t find that attractive at all.

We have now paid thirty dollars for a filter to keep 54 cents-worth of fish alive and the fish nerd who made a big show of slapping it together for me as a favor fucked it up because it leaks. Now I need to go back and endure his condescending pimple face again to get him to fix it. As he was screwing it together with his eyes closed, he assured me that I could use the same pump “when I get an aquarium.”

Heh, AS IF, I’ll be getting an aquarium, jerk.  

Except, except . . . I’ll probably be getting an aquarium. Shit.

Postscript: Last night before I went to bed, I noticed that Pearl was looking lethargic and much smaller than she had even a few hours before. Shrewd scientist that he is, Doctor Dash kept exclaiming: but how do you shrink? I don’t understand how you shrink! When I tried to give her a little extra food, Pingo swooped over in all his robust guppy glory and gobbled it all up. Even when I tried to be sneaky, he still managed to beat her to it (apparently fish can smell food – who knew?)  So I took a square plastic tupperware lid and separated them so that Pearl could eat her food in peace. I thought for certain her failure to thrive was a sign of imminent death but this morning she is not only looking a little bigger, she had managed to sneak over onto Pingo’s side, the saucy minx.