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1:16 p.m. - 2003-04-08
Bettas, Tornados, and Mom
Well, it was an exciting morning. My Siamese fighting fish, Giotto, needed his little tank cleaned and his weekly water change. I haven't talked about Giotto before, have I? I rescued Giotto from a pet store about three years ago. When I got him, he was a mess, with beat up fins and looking exhausted. Bruce didn't think he would live long. Dang pet stores! So we brought him home, thinking that at least he would die in a bit more happy place. Instead he's lived three years, and doesn't seem to be slowing down.

He's in a small tank on my studio table, with some water plants and a couple of snails to keep the algae down. Once in awhile he builds an egg nest or furls what's left of his fins in a show of aggression. Other than that he spends most of his time eating, and, I assume, sleeping. I've grown very fond of him.

Anyway, today I took his tank over to the kitchen sink to do the cleaning and water change. I was gently pouring out water and trying to get some of the algae guck out when suddenly he made this very athletic move and jumped out of the tank! And, since I had oh so thoughtfully not plugged the drain, he went down into the garbage disposal.

Man, I just freaked. What a horrible death! I couldn't let that happen to my beloved Siamese fighting fish! So, being careful not to get anywhere near the switch for the disposal (which the previous owners carefully placed in such a position that I am constantly turning it on by accident as it catches in my belt loops) I stuck my hand down the disposal to see if I could get a handle on him.

Just at that point the tornado sirens went off.

And the phone rang. It was my mom, gayly announcing on the message machine that she and my dad have decided that, instead of putting their house and land in a trust for me, they are just going to put my name straight onto the deed right now because they want to be sure and avoid some legal weirdness should they have to go into a nursing home and they needed Bruce and I to talk about this and get in touch immediately because I might have to fly up and discuss this with their lawyer who has a very bad stutter but has served them well for over twenty years.

So while the tornado sirens are wailing and my mom is spouting frightening sounding legalisms on the message machine, I am very carefully feeling around the garbage disposal blades for a slimey, flapping, three inch long fish.

About the time the sirens stopped and my mom was winding up with a sidenote about avoiding probate court, I got him. He appears to have suffered no ill effects, but instead is swimming about his tank looking mortified at the indignity of it all. And I called my mom back and she apologised for being so hyped up about this, but they have been going back and forth about it for months now, and since they have finally made a decision she wants to take care of it right away.

And you know, I never figured out why the sirens went off. There was no tornado! Are we under chemical weapons attack or something?


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