Jedi’s goldfish, Sweeney (don’t ask, he named it when we got it a year and a half ago), swam his last circle yesterday morning. For the sake of accuracy, I may have killed it. But let’s not dwell on the specifics, shall we.
We have had many a goldfish come and go during Jedi’s life. To make it easier on him, and perhaps on us, we recite a storied alteration on the truth when one passes. Namely, the fish came down sick and we had to take it to the fish hospital. This pacifies him enough until he eventually forgets all about it. Yesterday, however, he noticed Sweeney’s lifeless body on the bottom of the aquarium. There was no beating around the bush this time, which isn’t to say I didn’t try.
“Sweeney’s sick”, I told him.
Jedi briefly surveyed the situation. “Is he dead?”
“Yeah”, I answered with a heartfelt sigh.
We held a small memorial for Sweeney toilet-side. “Are you going to put him in pee?”, Jedi asked, concerned. “I’ll make sure there’s no pee”, I assured. With that, we said our final goodbyes. Immediately after, Jedi resumed merrily chasing his brother. I, on the other hand, have remained a little bummed ever since. Over a goldfish. Stupid goldfish.