My year started off so well. Euphorically. Mesmerisingly fun. Overflowing with happiness.

Then I accidentally killed one of my mum’s goldfish, and the guilt is eating me up…

Let me explain. My mum has long been the obsessive type. When she had a rabbit she would often be late for work. Why? Because she couldn’t help herself – she would just watch him for hours as he ambled through the house. Later she got the two dogs, who are now firmly entrenched as the “favourite children” in our family. And last year she added to the family with some goldfish…

Everytime I visited her I would be regaled with the chronicles of the fish-lives. I would have to ohh and aah at every new toy or plant. And when the fish (who were fast becoming fat and spoilt) finally had babies, suddenly lots of mini-aquariums appeared around the house. From one small pond a year ago, she now has two large outdoor ponds and three aquariums. And she counts the fish daily. Religiously. Morning and night. She’s even given some of them personalities….

How do I tell this woman that I killed one of the original fish whilst housesitting for only one week? I don’t know how I did it, but I did. Boy, am I in trouble.

And I realised several things about myself along the way; I don’t like putting my hand in the pond. When I had to get the dead one out, it freaked me a little bit when all the other fish would swim around my hand (god – I’m such a baby…) The second was that wrapping a fish in newspaper is a disquieting experience and one that filled me with a silly sort of sadness…

Other than that, so far this year has been a lovely burbling experience of happiness and excitement. It’s going to be a good year. If I can manage to keep my homicidal tendencies in check…..

Advertisements