What if you woke up one day and in the middle of your cup of Trader Joe’s French Roast you made a critical decision that may alter your future? Would you panic? Would you cry? Smile? Give thanks to the clouds and sky above that you finally came to this resounding resolution? Yes. But then, you would finish that cup o’ joe and rush out to the nearest pet store. Because, dangit, you need a goldfish.
This is exactly what happened to my mother a couple of weeks ago. It all began on Valentine’s Day. My good-natured brother-in-law sent mom a bouquet of lilies and roses as big as her head; bigger, since her hair has been shrinking since 1996. After said flowers wilted and were sent to the compost heap, she was left with this massive, boat-like orb of glass. And that’s when it hit her: she must have a goldfish.
Now, like any urban center, we have our share of Smart Pets, Company of Pets, and the like, but mom wanted to meander over to one of the smaller, locally-owned pet stores near her home. We chose one that we knew well in the area and had been in business for as long as we can remember.
First off let me explain that any endeavor made by mom is an excursion in patience. She is an older lady, uses a walker, and doesn’t see very well. And she is ornery to boot. So when we entered the little store, I worried that the service wouldn’t be up to her standard and we would leave disappointed. Boy, was I wrong!
We were greeted right away with smiles and “can I help you?” which alleviated my fears. Mom was slightly overwhelmed by all the supplies but I quickly directed her to the back of the store where all the fish live. They have a great selection of fish: colorful, majestic, tiny, glowing, solemn. Both freshwater and saltwater. But mom just wanted a plain-old, win-it-at-the-carnival goldfish. She couldn’t understand why the two huge tanks of goldfish were stuck on the floor, far away from her line of vision, and too low for her to bend down to get a good look. I didn’t have the heart to explain the cold hard truth, I mean, let’s face it, they don’t cost sixteen cents for nothing. So as I blocked the FEEDER FISH sign posted on the aquarium, and mom and I pondered how to go about selecting one fish out of twenty billion, a woman walked over to save us. She asked mom a couple of questions and then proceeded to pluck fish out of the tank, slip them into individual clear plastic bags filled with water, and hold them up for mom to see. She spent about twenty minutes going through this tedious ritual until mom finally gave her consent on a small, orange and white fish with a flowing tail. After that, our helper indicated which rocks we needed, the best live plant to add, fish food and water treatment products. I was so impressed by her patience and mom was so pleased by her assistance and expertise that we left completely overjoyed.
Thank goodness! We made it home safely and arranged mom’s new little friend so she could be comfortable in her ultra-modern glass house. Hopefully the cats won’t notice her. Either way, mom named her “Blondie”, after the nickname we call one of her doctors. She is part of the family now, whether the cats think so or not. And after awhile, I detected mom sitting peacefully on her couch, watching The View and sighing in relief. Because sometimes you just need a goldfish.
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