MURDER HE WROTE

I came downstairs this morning to a horrific murder scene. There on the family room floor was the lifeless body of goldie, our priceless 3 year old goldfish won at a local fair through the herculian efforts of one of my sons throwing a ping pong ball into his bowl. He had survived countless days of us ignoring him and forgetting to feed him. He learned to survive eating his own shit. But he never learned to live outside his tank, the poor bastard.

It seems our two cats had formulated a master plan. They would hover above his tank for hours watching his every move. They were always drinking the water in his tank. We thought it was harmless, so we ignored it. Little did we know it was part of their murderous plans. In retrospect, it seems so obvious. They eventually drank the water down to a level where escape was futile. Then under the cover of darkness, they attacked. I have concluded that Cookie was the lookout and Smokey committed the dastardly deed. Both are denying all involvement and claim that goldie leapt to his death on his own. They have both lawyered up.

Smokey claims it was Colonel Mustard.

The saddest part of this story is that Avalon will never experience the joy of transporting goldie to the shore or her mother’s house again. She would utilize an old lemonade container for these trips. Once while coming home from the shore she thought goldie needed more air, so she took the lid off the container. As she was turning to get on I-95, the bowl tipped over and goldie went under the car seat. Avalon pulled over and tried to find him to no avail. She gave him up for dead, but he flopped out and she was able to put him in the 2 inches of water left in the container. When we went on our cruise, she used the same container to transport him to her mother’s house and it fell over and broke, spilling most of the water. Now you know why I don’t like to drive in our minivan.

So ends the sad story of Goldie the goldfish. RIP