This morning, after lovingly disposing of Howard the Fish I took all of his things — his tank, his plants, and his rocks, as well as all his implements and whatnot — and I disposed of them as well, just in case. I don’t know why he died, but it seemed to be sudden, perhaps of old age. It’s been pointed out that he was likely a full adult (of at least a year) when I first took him home about 2-1/2 years ago, so as likely as not he was simply old, and finished with this business of flaring at the cat and gaping for kibble on a daily basis.
I hope I gave him a pleasant life. At any rate, he left it peacefully, sandwiched lightly between his two favorite leaves.
This morning I tried very hard to work, but the empty tank stand became too much for me so I threw on some shoes, nabbed some lunch, and camped out at the Petco in the U-district for the better part of an hour while I picked out a new tank (2-1/2 gallons), some new gravel (pale, opalescent, and lovely), and a new holey rock (striped, and large enough in which to hide).*
Then I made the rounds, scanning up and down the stacks and racks of unhappy-looking bettas in tiny plastic bowls. Half of them were drugged to the gills, anesthetized as is probably humane if you’re going to jam them all together like that; as you know Bob, bettas tend to be pretty aggressive toward one another, and will go berserk if they aren’t artificially mellowed.
I saw many beautiful fish, and a few of them even went so far as to gaze back at me, dispassionate and apathetic. But one of the females watched me rise and crouch to see up and down along the rows, and I kept returning to her. Even after checking all the other shelves and all the other racks, she was the one I came back to.
So I picked her up and took her home.
She has a tiny blue-black face and big, shiny eyes; her body is mostly a deep, sparkling blue that fades to an electric color along her back. She is about half as long as my pinky finger (about 1/3 the size that Howard was), and fast as lightning.
At first, she was damn near frantic — furious and wild, flinging herself against the edges of the plastic cup as if she could beat her way out. But once the new digs were set up and she was introduced thereunto, her rage settled into curiosity and — I imagine — the liberating pleasure of being able to swim around in a space larger than a cup of coffee. And now she’s tootling around in a much more laid-back fashion, perky but no longer flaring and afraid.
I like her. She’s got spirit, this one.
Unfortunately, she does not yet have a name.
(I’ve just been calling her “Little Lady,” which will not work for the long term.)
Ergo, I am taking suggestions. I am even open to turning this into a little contest, whereby the person who submits the name I like best and/or choose to inflict upon this small swimmer, will receive an advance bound small-format copy of Boneshaker.**
This offer null and void to anyone who has received one of these bound-forms already, unless he/she would like to pass one on to a favored reader, but everyone is invited to contribute suggestions, regardless.
Here’s her first set of portraits:
Or if that doesn’t satisfy your fish-interest, you can find a video of her settling in right here.
I’m particularly interested in names of bad-ass lady scientists or explorers, and/or groovy place names, or maybe the names of cool boats or planes. Anyway, have fun with it — or ignore it altogether if you simply can’t believe some nutter is going to all this trouble over a fish that cost about three bucks. Well, I like these fish. And I need a name for this one.
Leave your comments on my webpage or on the Livejournal, if you have a Livejournal account — or email them to me at cherie . priest@gmail.com (remove spaces). [Edited to add: Or Twitter, sure.] Surprise me. Impress me. I’ll send you words, and probably stickers or something, while I’m at it.
:)
*
As I implied in the intro paragraph, I also nabbed a new net, new scrubbie sponge, thermometer, heater, etc. Pretty much anything that Howard ever touched, I threw out as a matter of precaution.
**
Which is to say, I don’t have any proper ARCs yet, but I have a small-form version that, I confess, features very small print. I have a couple left, and I’m willing to part with one.
I am sad for this boy — the dancing kid with the huge voice and the amazing moves. I am sorry about the childhood he seems to have missed, and the defective wreck of an adult he eventually became.
