Requiem for a Little Thing
The Good Man cautioned me about posting this because it’s very squishy and quite soppy and over the top melancholy. He warned me that I am opening myself up to some teasing for being so weepy about a fish. That’s ok. It’s what was on my heart and so I wrote it. Then I decided to go ahead and post it anyway. So here goes.
***
The Good Man often says, “No one cares about the little things” when referring to pets and small animals. At first I thought he was just being overly dramatic, but over the years, I’ve come to realize he might be right.
As a child, my parents were not fans of animals as pets and the care that goes along with having a pet, and so I didn’t have a pet until I was twelve years old. I didn’t learn to own and care for a pet, and how to lose a pet, in my early years.
My first animal was a cat named Yoda and I adored that cat. She died when I was in college and I still remember driving home to my parent’s place in Carlsbad crying my eyes out the whole way. A little girl racing home in a rattletrap car with big, sobbing tears, all over a cat. Yeah, that’s me.
As I moved into my adulthood, I always lived in an apartment and most rental places don’t want you to have a pet. So I didn’t.
The Good Man, on the other hand, has never had a moment in his life where he didn’t have a pet. He’s really good at taking care of animals and reading their moods, and he also has a lot of experience dealing with the loss of beloved pets.
When this handsome man entered my life, he came with baggage in the form of not one but two cats. In the first year of our association, one of the two kittehs (who had a slight attachment to me) passed on and I was crushed with grief. Crushed, dumbfounded and heartbroken. I’d grown to love that orange cat in a very short time and it had been a long time since I’d had a little animal to love.
We still have one kitteh, the rasty Feline, and she’s 14 and cranky and I can’t imagine a day when she’s not balled up behind my knees in the bed while I sleep.
And then there is my fish.
Who can be sentimental about a fish?
Me, that’s who.
For reasons I can’t quite articulate, a few years ago I decided I wanted to have some betta fish. I’d heard they were interactive and smart. I mean, a fish? All water and gills and scales. Interactive?
Turns out it is true. Betta fish are quite interactive and dare I say they have a good sense of humor too.
The downside of owning betta fish is that they have a pretty short life span. Three years is a good run. Some people get as much as five.
Last year, we lost our little girl fish, Margaret and I was saddened. She was the kindest, sweetest, most lovely little being. We joked she was the queen of our home, as she had a regal bearing about her.
Over most of this past year, my boy fish Benito has struggled. He’s sick with some sort of ailment that has caused his kidneys to fail. His abdomen is distended and it’s only a matter of (short) time before he shuffles off this mortal coil.
I look at my little betta and I see him suffering and I’m sad.
“It’s just a fish!” a friend said, when I wanted to talk to her about my sadness.
Yes. Just a fish. But my fish. And he is loved. Watching any being suffer is tough to take.
So every day I talk to my little fish and I coax him to have a few pellets and I worry over him and I change his water a lot and I know the end is near.
I guess as I age I’ve become an old softie. The thing is, I really am sad. I wish I could hug my little fish and make him feel better but I cannot. I can only sit outside his tank and hold my finger up to the glass and he will chase my finger, even when he feels bad, because that’s how we play.
————
All of the above was written about a month ago. I just had to get my thoughts out while I watched my cherished pet suffer.
Tuesday morning in the very small hours, I was up and making breakfast when I noticed my fish struggling. He had a little seizure and then he quietly died.
I can’t believe I had to watch him die, even as I am glad I was there with him.
The Good Man and I talked. I don’t think I want to have any new pets for a while. We’re good with the one rasty cat.
In Spanish, the word benito means blessing. For a few years my little red fish was a happy little blessing in my life.
I’m happy I got to be his human.
Boy oh boy, this losing a pet just doesn’t get any easier.
My beautiful cranky faced fish.
Photo Copyright 2012, Karen Fayeth, and subject to the Creative Commons license in the far right column of this page. Taken with an iPhone4s and the Instagram app.
