Have you ever read the book Jonathon Livingston Seagull? It’s my favorite book. This seagull, a creative, driven, fly-outside-the-box kind of bird, outcasts himself among the dump-duck set by exploring beyond the limitations of flock societal rules, thereby achieving the truest heights of passion and joy.
I’m going to write the sequel. It’s called Jonathon Livingston Goldfish. It’s about this kid’s fish, this tiny little wriggly shiny dude, who just swims around and around his tank the first two months they have him, and then he just starts flipping out, literally, swimming to the very top of the tank, then doing a breakneck nose-dive (though goldfish don’t really have necks, do they? Or noses) and plummeting toward the bottom, pulling up only when he’s succeeded in causing his concerned human companion (my wife) a near heart attack. “WHY IS HE DOING THAT??” she keeps saying.
I think it’ll sell like hotcakes. Or gruel in a poorhouse.
In any case, Ru and I have done all this research now that the neighbors have gifted our daughter with this charming little kamikazi. I, being the Mother Protector of All Earth and Especially Small and Helpless Things, spend all of my weekly earnings providing my family pets (and the wife and kid) with the most natural, healthful food and environment I can afford. As it turns out, goldfish are not meant to live in bowls the width and breadth of their bodies. As it turns out, goldfish do not like to be kept all alone with nobody to help them keep a bulging eye out for the numerous dangers of the fishtank. As it turns out, Pocket is going to cost us another $200. You know, so he can have a friend and a 30-gallon tank. That’s almost the size of our apartment. We’ll be living in the back of the truck from now on, so if you want us, you can send us a letter by passenger pigeon, since we’ll be giving the phone and internet and TV remote to Pocket and his new companion, who I think I’ll name “Sushi”.