The care and feeding of Nemo

So last week I totally got conned into buying a fish for Caroline. I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it yet because, heaven knows, it’s about the most exciting thing that’s gone on around here in days, but I realized I needed to let y’all know we bought a fish so when it dies in the next few weeks and I write a post about our fish dying, you won’t be all like “What fish? You don’t even have a fish”.

Here is our fish.

Caroline really thought outside the box and named him Nemo. It was an exceptionally original choice, not only because of the movie “Nemo”, but our last fish was also named Nemo. I asked her if maybe she wanted to call him Nemo II, but she insisted on just Nemo.

It kind of reminded me of when we took in a stray dog for a few weeks a couple of years ago and Caroline decided to call him Uncle Bruiser. For three weeks, we had Scout, Bruiser and Uncle Bruiser. Although you have to admit that adding Uncle to a moniker really gives it that extra something special. Just ask Ted Nugent.

Anyway, it all started when we went to the hardware store to pick up some paint swatches. There’s a pet store right next to the hardware store and she asked if we could just go in and look around. Clearly, the heat has made me insane because I said, “Sure!”.

I have every reason to believe she walked into that pet store with a strategy in place. She immediately saw the bunnies and asked if she could have one. When I refused, she moved on to the birds. Oh right. Like I’m going to have a bird in my house. There aren’t enough sedatives in the world for me to have a bird that has the potential to learn to talk. It was bad enough that one of the birds in the store knew how to make a sound like a dog’s squeaky toy. Every time that dang bird squeaked, I jumped out of my skin like a nervous cat on amphetamines and Red Bull.

After she received the no on the bird, she began to look admiringly at the hamsters and gerbils, otherwise known as dressed-up rats. By the time she asked me for a betta fish, I was relieved to buy just a fish. I felt like I’d escaped some deeper level of pet hell, when in reality I’d just been totally played. There is not a doubt in my mind she was gunning for the fish the whole time.

We brought Nemo home in the requisite plastic bag with a rubber band and I began to search for our old fish bowl. You can imagine my delight when I found it out in the yard, filled with water and covered in algae. Apparently, Caroline had been using it to conduct “science experiments”. If her hypothesis was that leaving a fish bowl full of water out in the South Texas sun would cause it to grow green fur and drive her mama crazy with the all the bleaching, then she absolutely proved her theory.

After the bowl was clean, we dumped Nemo in the water, then I pulled out the instructions on how to care for your betta fish and read number one, “Leave your fish in the plastic bag and put bag in new water to give fish a chance to acclimate to the new surroundings.”

Oops.

I guess it would have been helpful to read the instructions beforehand.

P came home around lunchtime and we introduced him to the newest member of our family. P is a fan of fish. In fact, he brought an aquarium into our marriage that we kept in our dining room for the first two years of our marriage. It was a dark time that I don’t like to dwell on for too long.

(Having the aquarium in the dining room was a dark time, not the first two years of our marriage. Just wanted to clarify.)

(It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the fish, it’s just hard to decorate around a wooden aquarium stand that screams “Bachelor Pad”.)

Caroline told P all about her new fish and P said, “Hey! I wonder if he would eat one of your Sea Monkeys?”

“Oh Daddy! Can we feed him a Sea Monkey?”

What kind of sick people do I live with?

Those Sea Monkeys are pets. I have been through a lot with those Sea Monkeys. My sweet friend Amanda gave Caroline those Sea Monkeys about two months ago and in that time I have managed to kill them countless times only to have them rise from their overfed ashes like the Phoenix. I am emotionally invested in those Sea Monkeys.

I should have known Caroline didn’t feel the same way when she wore them around her neck in the Sea Monkey Friendship Locket to go eat sushi. It never even dawned on her that she was eating the larger version of her pets.

P told her they could feed Nemo a Sea Monkey when he got home from work. Sure enough, later that evening they sucked one of the Sea Monkeys out of its tank and took it into Caroline’s bedroom. I stayed in the kitchen because I couldn’t bear to watch. Two minutes later I heard excited squeals and laughter as Caroline yelled, “HE ATE IT!!! HE ATE IT!!”

And that’s the last thing Nemo has eaten. Ever since he had a taste of live Sea Monkey, he refuses to eat his normal fish food. Or maybe it’s not the Sea Monkeys. Perhaps we bought the fish version of Ghandi and he’s protesting something. All I know is boyfriend won’t eat.

(He may be a girl for all I know. He just seems like a manly fish.)

This is why I’m telling you we bought a fish. Because if he keeps up this hunger strike, it won’t be long before I have to inform you that Nemo has gone on to a better place.

Y’all have a good weekend.

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