...and then I lost my fish
Yes yes, this is two work stories in one day, because just as I finished posting the last one, I turned around to say good morning to Seymour and he was lying sideways at the bottom of the tank.
I gasped and covered my mouth, stood up quickly and ran over to Cici and Jeannie. "The..fish...Seymour," I gasped out and they ran to the tank and both turned to me and said as one, "FISHKILLER!" I still had my hands clapped over my mouth and was doubled over when Jeannie remarked, "I can't tell if you're about to cry or laugh."
I couldn't tell either.
Let me back up to last week. Last week I consulted some people and they told me it was fine to only feed Seymour every two days. "He's so fat!" they said, "He's so big!" they said, "He fills up the tank!" they said, and so I stopped feeding Seymour every day.
Perhaps now is the time to admit that Seymour's tank hasn't been cleaned in ... almost eight weeks. I am a busy lady, OKAY? I am tired of having my hands in fish poop.
But that's not important. What is important is that Seymour was no longer going to be made fun of for his weight, and I began feeding him every other day and he seemed fine with the arrangement. He still gupped his little mouth all the time, gupgupgup, but I figured he was just talking to me.
This morning I came in and Seymour was lying sideways on the bottom of his tank. After I jumped up and summoned the troops, Seymour attempted to swim up to the top of the tank but his fat ass struggled to even make it halfway. I cannot coax him to eat. He just keeps floating lethargically sideways and gupping his little mouth like he always does. I began to try and recall when I fed him last, but I kept getting confused on which was the alternate day so I just dumped a whole bunch in there.
It's very clear to me that he's on his dying moments. I decided he needed to go with dignity and fresh water, so I scooped him out of the big tank and put him in clean water in a little fishbowl. He's so fat his belly looks enormous when viewed through the glass. I buzzed some people to tell them they needed say goodbye to him. I was joking; THEY ALL CAME INTO MY OFFICE.
Oh dear GOD. There is a HUGE debate going on about whether I should flush him or not. I have ten people in here surrounding the fish tank offering up things like, "Try mouth to mouth!" and "Give him some compressions!". He's still struggling to make it, slowly turned sideways around the tiny bowl. Half my coworkers say I need to stop his suffering and go ahead and flush him. The other half doesn't want his last seconds to be SCARED by being flushed down the toilet.
HI THIS IS MY LIFE.
It's two hours later and Seymour is still rallying to keep it up. Kit came in to offer up advice:
"C'mon Seymour give it up, dude. God why is he so FAT. Hey look, he's taking a shit. Seymour, man, follow the light. Maybe he's stopped up. Maybe he takes this mad shit and then floats back up like normal, that'd be crazy, right? Seymour you need a laxative, I can hook you up, bro."
In other news, I cannot stop laughing.
Kit went on: "Yo, Seymour, it's all Lyra's fault." Then Kit stopped and reconsidered. "Well, maybe it's not Lyra's fault." Kit paused. "But Esta, now that was ALL LYRA'S FAULT. We can totally blame that one on her."
Cici attempted to rescue me. "Well, an office really isn't the place for a fish."
"YEAH," Kit said, "especially when there's a FISHKILLER on the loose."
I gasped and covered my mouth, stood up quickly and ran over to Cici and Jeannie. "The..fish...Seymour," I gasped out and they ran to the tank and both turned to me and said as one, "FISHKILLER!" I still had my hands clapped over my mouth and was doubled over when Jeannie remarked, "I can't tell if you're about to cry or laugh."
I couldn't tell either.
Let me back up to last week. Last week I consulted some people and they told me it was fine to only feed Seymour every two days. "He's so fat!" they said, "He's so big!" they said, "He fills up the tank!" they said, and so I stopped feeding Seymour every day.
Perhaps now is the time to admit that Seymour's tank hasn't been cleaned in ... almost eight weeks. I am a busy lady, OKAY? I am tired of having my hands in fish poop.
But that's not important. What is important is that Seymour was no longer going to be made fun of for his weight, and I began feeding him every other day and he seemed fine with the arrangement. He still gupped his little mouth all the time, gupgupgup, but I figured he was just talking to me.
This morning I came in and Seymour was lying sideways on the bottom of his tank. After I jumped up and summoned the troops, Seymour attempted to swim up to the top of the tank but his fat ass struggled to even make it halfway. I cannot coax him to eat. He just keeps floating lethargically sideways and gupping his little mouth like he always does. I began to try and recall when I fed him last, but I kept getting confused on which was the alternate day so I just dumped a whole bunch in there.
It's very clear to me that he's on his dying moments. I decided he needed to go with dignity and fresh water, so I scooped him out of the big tank and put him in clean water in a little fishbowl. He's so fat his belly looks enormous when viewed through the glass. I buzzed some people to tell them they needed say goodbye to him. I was joking; THEY ALL CAME INTO MY OFFICE.
Oh dear GOD. There is a HUGE debate going on about whether I should flush him or not. I have ten people in here surrounding the fish tank offering up things like, "Try mouth to mouth!" and "Give him some compressions!". He's still struggling to make it, slowly turned sideways around the tiny bowl. Half my coworkers say I need to stop his suffering and go ahead and flush him. The other half doesn't want his last seconds to be SCARED by being flushed down the toilet.
HI THIS IS MY LIFE.
It's two hours later and Seymour is still rallying to keep it up. Kit came in to offer up advice:
"C'mon Seymour give it up, dude. God why is he so FAT. Hey look, he's taking a shit. Seymour, man, follow the light. Maybe he's stopped up. Maybe he takes this mad shit and then floats back up like normal, that'd be crazy, right? Seymour you need a laxative, I can hook you up, bro."
In other news, I cannot stop laughing.
Kit went on: "Yo, Seymour, it's all Lyra's fault." Then Kit stopped and reconsidered. "Well, maybe it's not Lyra's fault." Kit paused. "But Esta, now that was ALL LYRA'S FAULT. We can totally blame that one on her."
Cici attempted to rescue me. "Well, an office really isn't the place for a fish."
"YEAH," Kit said, "especially when there's a FISHKILLER on the loose."