Remember how I had that fish Jimmer? And remember how I used to give periodic updates here because no one in my family thought a fish could survive for more than a week at this house what with cats and lackadaisical feeding schedules? And remember how that fish just kept on living? And living and living and etc. living? And how I stopped chronicling all that living because it got boring and I got all cocky?
"Yeah, this fish is gonna live for-freaking-ever," I said to myself. Cockily.
Well. I just walked into the kitchen and saw that poor Jimmer has gone belly-up. He's dead. Dead as a goldfish. At least the kind of goldfish we usually get. Oh, Jimmer, we hardly knew ye. It's true that you lived with us for ten months, which is a long time. It's like maybe a 100 years in Human Time. But still. It's hard to know what fish are thinking when you get right down to it. Also feeling.
Anyway. I wish him well in his next life, whatever that life looks like. Meanwhile, please feel free to sign his guestbook.