Now, I don’t hate fish, I really don’t. Well, most of the time I don’t, anyway. The only time I do get mildly annoyed by them is when they’re in a domestic environment. AKA, my house.
That’s when it’s safe to say they really tip me off. Especially when having to constantly check them, clean the tank, and other things that, if they were out in the wild, would take care of themselves.
You see, it all begins with my Mum wanting to get a pet. That’s when I knew things were going to go downhill. See, back at my old house, we had fish. Thing is, though they were classed as ‘Family Pets’, it was always me and Dad who ended up cleaning them out every few weeks.
Believe me, it was a less than pleasant task.
So, when Mum decides that fish are the best option, and that they would be (and I quote) “Less stress”, I immediately knew that I was in for the long haul, no matter how much I protested.
Seems like the protestants back in the day got lucky.
Protesting doesn’t work anymore.
Well, at least not around here, son.
I was surprised at the speed that Mum managed to get the tank and fish in the house, thinking I had more time for my pity-party.
If life was Skyrim, I think it would be safe to say that the Gods must see me as one of their many amusements.
Anyway, I decided to try and bring up the positives. You know, lighten the mood, make my mind think that there was actually a purpose in my labour.
There weren’t many, I assure you.
My biggest con was that, in my mind, fish weren’t meant to be domesticated. It’s common fact, if you ask me. I mean, fish shouldn’t be born in a tank, or raised in one either. They were meant to be free in their own natural habitat, or at least in a nature reserve pond…or somewhere similar. See, in my mind, I’m pretty sure that natural instincts stay in an animal, no matter how long they’ve been in a domestic environment, and even if the thoughts been pushed ‘to the back of their minds’ so to speak. Same thing applies to environment, for me. In the back of a fish’s mind, surely there’s a small nagging, telling them that they’re not meant to be where they are. Maybe I’m being over-sympathetic with fish, due to my severe lack of social skills. Maybe I just want them out of my house so fast, I’ve begun to make up excuses for them to go.
I’m not entirely sure, but what I do know, is that they shouldn’t be in my house.