I have a new roommate. His name is Jesse.
I own a fish. This might be shocking to some of you. If it’s not, let me tell you why it should be:
- In the three years I’ve lived on my own, I’ve managed to kill three out of three plants. Two out of the three only lived a few weeks. (Did you know they need water EVERY day??)
- I’ve said multiple times that, at this point in my life, I don’t want to take care of anything living besides myself…clearly demonstrated by the point above.
- I had a cat named Tina growing up. She died when I was sixteen and it was heartbreaking. I never wanted to go through that again.
- Other than Tina, I’m not a pet person. I don’t like dogs (I’m sorry! I’m still a good person, I swear) and compare any cat to my dear Tina, so they’re never good enough.
But then I got it in my head that I wanted a fish. I did research and thought a betta fish would be a good starter pet for me. I could probably keep it alive and they’re pretty (high standards, right?). Besides, how emotionally attached can you get to a fish? So Monday after work, I went to the pet store to buy a fish.
The young sales associate took pity on me (or, more likely, on the fish who was drew the short straw to get me as its owner), and walked me through everything I needed. After convincing her that I would change the water weekly and therefore could get the fish bowl instead of the aquarium, she bit her lip and handed me a how to care for your betta pamphlet.
At that point, I decided against asking my second question: “how long can I go without feeding it?” I’m pretty sure she would’ve asked me to leave and put me on PetSmart’s “do not sell to” list.
After a stressful drive home (for both me and Jesse) and trying to figure out if the gravel or water goes into the fishbowl first (I still don’t know), I transferred Jesse to his new home…and then spent the next 30 minutes watching him swim around.
Guys, I have shocking news. It’s been 24 hours and I’m turning into one of those pet people.
I’ve taken pictures and put them on Instagram. I referred to Jesse as my mom’s “grandfish” when I told her about him. At work today, I found myself wondering what he was doing (spoiler: the answer was “swimming”…he’s a fish).
Who am I? This isn’t me! It’s just a fish!
But his survival is completely dependent on me. Nothing has ever been completely dependent on me (other than those plants). And that’s kind of a cool feeling. Plus he’s prettier than all the other fish. (See? I’m a pet person!)
Sigh. Maybe I’m coming around to the whole pet thing. Maybe I could handle a cat…but not until Jesse dies…which could be a while – did you know they can live up to three years? I read that part of the pamphlet after I got home.