GREENVILLE, N.C. — Except for two little fish who refuse to die, our house is pet-free.
Fletcher, the family cat, decided after 12 years there must be more to life than lounging around without a single care in the world. He left without saying goodbye, and within six months our dogs Lindsey and Sydney both died of old age.
The dogs are buried in the back yard under the big maple, an arrangement that provides some measure of closure. But we still half expect to spot Fletcher sleeping in one of his favorite places.
As my wife and I still mourn the loss of those three beloved pets, we've grown to resent the two that live on. Against all odds, these thumb-size fish keep right on swimming.
Santa left the tank for our three daughters four Christmases ago, and the first few inhabitants were quite fragile. Even the slightest change in water temperature would send them belly up, although we could always buy replacements before the girls noticed.
Or maybe they just didn't care.
To preserve the girls' feelings, Sharon finally brought home the two heartier swimmers, whose breed she could not recall for this column.
"They're white fish," she said blankly.
Call them angelfish. They're immortal whatever they are.
We've forgotten to feed them, allowed the tank to become nasty, and even added ordinary tap water to the tank. Those fish never so much as swim sideways.
I'm beginning to suspect there's a prankster periodically replacing our fish with a fresh pair. It's been done.
My friend L.R. Hughes tells about rushing to replace a dead fish in an office tank before the boss returned from vacation. He carried the carcass into six pet stores before finding a close enough match.
The boss never caught on, but months later when the replacement croaked, she said, "Finally! I thought that stinking fish would never die!"
Our fish tank sprang a leak the other day. Unfortunately, I was able to stop the flow before any harm came to the fish.
I discovered the minor flood just before transporting the girls to an appointment for which we were already late.
On the road moments later, during a somewhat tense telephone conversation with Sharon, I said, in code, that the time had come to dispose of said aquatic creatures "one way or another."
Sitting silently in the back of the van, the girls cracked the code.
"Daddy, we could take the fish back to the fish store," Julia suggested timidly.
"That's a fine idea," I said reassuringly as I braced for the possibility of tears.
"Or," Noel offered in singsong rhythm, "we could flush 'em down the toilet and hope they enjoy it."
Of course we would never do that. But maybe a kid so good at sensing when dad needs to laugh gets a new kitten.
And maybe we leave the top off the fish tank.
Mark Rutledge writes for The Daily Reflector in Greenville, N.C. E-mail mrutledge AT coxnc.com
