Plenty of Fish in the Aquarium

Even though it seems like Vanessa has fun being in the Aquatic Life department at PetWorld with me, I think the reason she likes Will is because he is in Grooming. I bet she likes the way he has such command of the dogs. How when they are on the metal table awaiting a nail-trimming or brushing or haircut, he demands their obedience. How he takes control of their (sometimes) large, muscular bodies. Vanessa seems slippery like a fish herself, and wild. Maybe she wants him to tame her. I bet she fantasizes about him fearlessly shampooing a snarling German Shepard. If only she could see that he’s just working at a glorified dog salon.

He pauses to say hi to her as he walks past us in the Aquarium aisle. What a chump. His pecs happen to be eye-level with her. The only thing worse than Will’s pecs is Vanessa looking at Will’s pecs. There’s got to be something I can do to make her see that I, too, have good qualities, deep down. Somewhere in there, I’m sure. And once I find them, I’m totally gonna show her.

It’s closing time. As the announcement from the intercom crackles throughout PetWorld, some of the customers scramble to lug their thirty-pound bags of birdseed to the cash register, some look irritated that they are being rushed in their choice of chew-toy color, and some of them see it as the perfect time to ask if they can hold a kitten “just real quick” because they might adopt it “if you just tell me all about its personality. Real quick.”

Sometimes I wonder what the PetWorld owners would list as “Creature Care” instructions when it comes to us employees. Natural Human Habitat: This creature thrives on Top 40’s radio and under fluorescent bulbs. Accustomed to a mixed stench of dog food, floor wax, and hamster bedding. Stands in an upright position, ideally on linoleum tile, in nine-hour cycles. Feeds off of Cheetos and Skittles.

As I restock aquarium décor, from fake coral reefs to figurines of bikinied Betty Boops, I watch Vanessa out of the corner of my eye. She loopty-loops her long, dark hair into a messy bun and slips on thick rubber gloves. Her khaki work pants tighten around her just right as she kneels down to clean the fish tanks. No one else makes aquarium scum so sexy.

“Oh, hey there, Vanessa.” I say. “Did you see that poodle, with the dyed-pink fur, that just wouldn’t sit still for Will today?” I ask her.

“No. Why?”

“Oh. Because, well, it happened.”

She continues cleaning. Alex from Reptiles suddenly slides around the corner, orange corn snake draped around his neck. He strides toward me with a sense of secretive purpose.

“Pssst,” he hisses. “Check it. Hot chick with hamster wheel. Coming this way.”

“Uh oh, there’s a hot chick on the loose?” Vanessa says. “I’ll direct her to the birdcages on aisle seven.”

A blonde woman with the tell-tale hamster wheel approaches.

“Hey! Anything I can help you with?” Alex asks, casually draping his arm over a terrarium.

“No,” she says.

“Well the good news is it’s feeding time and I’m gonna dump some crickets into the chameleon tank if you wanna check it out. See their tongues do some crazy stuff. Those little guys love . . . these little guys.” He pulls a bag of live crickets out of his pocket. “So. What do ya think?”

“I think I’ll stick with animals who are vegetarians.” She nods at the hamster wheel she’s carrying. The rest of us look at each other. None of us mention the hamster cannibal incident of February. The blissfully naïve hot chick walks to the cash register and into the sunset.

* * *

About half an hour after closing, our cleaning and feeding and stocking is interrupted by another announcement over the intercom:

“Attention PetWorld employees! This is your captain speaking!”

It’s Will’s annoyingly deep voice.

“Team Captain, that is! Harold just went home sick so I’m you shift leader for tonight. And now, ladies and gentlemen, a change of pace to get you pumped!”

Suddenly, death metal comes out of the speakers. Not just plain death metal, either. Christian Death Metal. I wonder if they also call it Eternal Life Metal.

This calls for an extra smoke break. I slip outside. My mind is muttering, thinking about how people should really call him “Hamster Will” because he’s basically running on a hamster wheel, thinking he’s so important. Thinking he’s gonna get somewhere in here.

The door opens behind me and I jump as if someone has overheard my thoughts. Vanessa comes out holding a bottle of whiskey.

“If you’re gonna do it wrong, do it right,” she says, and hands me the bottle. I take a drink but when I go to hand it back to her, she’s already holding a whole ‘nother bottle.

“That one’s for you,” she says.

* * *

Alex joins us and the three of us sit on a wooden palette out back, passing the bottles around. They both bum a cigarette off me, as usual. Night crew dinner break.

“I’m gonna quit this job and ditch town,” says Vanessa.

“You know, every year that you say that it just sounds truer and truer,” says Alex, lighting his cigarette.

“Whatever. I’m saving up money so I can move somewhere that doesn’t suck.”

“Oh yeah? That’s a funny-lookin’ piggy bank.” Alex points at the whiskey bottle. Vanessa shoots him a look. We’re all quiet for a while. My chest is warm with the afterglow of whiskey. I squint my eyes at the distant streetlights, making the light bend into different shapes. Eventually, Vanessa breaks the silence again.

“Do you guys ever feel bad for the animals?” she slurs.

“Sometimes, sure,” says Alex. “But what I do is I give them the occasional treat. Ferrets dig Cheetos.”

“No, I mean like, maybe they wish they could run free, at least once. Especially the ones that are just gonna die in there anyway. The less cute ones that no one wants.” As she says this, I blush, wondering if I’m also in that category.

“Yeah, yeah, some of them will die in there, but they’d die even sooner if they were suddenly released into the world. At least they have food and shelter here. And the occasional Cheeto,” says Alex.

“They deserve a chance,” says Vanessa. “Don’t you agree?” She looks at me, with enlarged, intense pupils.

“Um . . . yeah!” I say. I nod my head meaningfully at her. I’m not sure what the meaning is, but I make sure my nod is full of it.

“Even if you opened up their cages, they’d probably just sit there, chillin’,” says Alex, flicking his cigarette away.

“You wanna bet?” asks Vanessa.

“No,” says Alex.

Vanessa gets up and goes inside. Alex rolls his eyes, unfazed. I sit there with him, playing it very cool, for a while. Until I hear a loud crash over the sound of eternal life metal.

I run inside, Alex trailing behind me. The music volume gets turned down. Then I hear an invisible chorus of meows. I glance at the cat cages. All twenty of them are empty. Meows are coming from all directions, like a surround-sound system, but cats. Vanessa approaches me, a look of horror in her glassy eyes. What have you done, Vanessa?

“What the freaking heck is going on here?” Will stomps toward us.

“It was an accident.” Her voice is barely audible.

“An accident? Are you freaking kidding me?” Will asks, glaring down at her. “Do you even want this job?”

The answer is probably the same for all of us, except him: No we don’t want this stupid job. Yes we want to afford food and shelter. Translation: “Sir, yes sir.”

Vanessa nods meekly.

“Hey everyone, all that matters is that we get them back in, right?” I chime in, after rehearsing the line in my head a few times. A cat skitters past and I try to grab it. Thus it begins.

I try to stealthily follow whatever cats I find and grab them when they least suspect it. Apparently they always suspect it.

I see Vanessa trying to make herself approachable. “Here, kitty kitty,” she says. She pats her knees. She finds a stringy cat toy and dangles it to no avail.

Alex is just standing there not doing anything. I’m annoyed until I realize his strategy is to be totally still and grab them when they wander close enough. He gets one but drops it when it scratches him.

I hear Will yelling, “Come! Sit! Stay! Well fudge you, too! Son of a biscuit!” Vanessa and I exchange glances.

We get a couple of the slower-moving kittens back in cages, but the rest are getting out of hand. The cats are clawing into bags of food and spraying their piss on walls and harassing the chinchillas.

It’s like some kind of feline night club in here. I imagine the kittens crowding around to watch the parakeets waddle in their birdcages like exotic cage dancers. I imagine them snorting lines of catnip off someone’s belly. That’s when it hits me. I go to the Cat Toys-n-Treats aisle.

“What are you doing?” Vanessa asks me, her warm whiskey breath suddenly on the back of my neck. My skin tingles for a moment.

“I’m gathering all the cat nip and cat nip toys we have. I’m going to open the catnip up, all of it all at once, and their resistance will be futile!” I say, piling the cat-nip merchandise in my arms. She picks up all the things I drop.

I yell for Alex and Will to bring scissors. They come over, looking skeptical. I explain the plan.

“So once we’ve opened all the catnip, I will lay on the ground and you will sprinkle the catnip all over my body. Like a nightclub,” I say.

“You sound insane,” says Alex.

“We’re done here,” Will says. “I’m just gonna call Harold and report all of you.”

“Wait,” I say. “You think he’s gonna be happy you let this happen on your watch . . . as shift leader?” He ponders this. I can see the wheels turning in his brain. “Just let me try it,” I say. “Eventually the catnip will make them woozy and sleepy and easy to pick up.”

Finally, the three of them agree and start opening the catnip. I lie down on my back.

“We can just dump it on a pile on the floor, you know,” says Alex.

“Nope, I’m already down here. Quickly now, quickly!”

“You do realize the cats could get crazy and start scratching and biting the crap out of you, right?” he says.

I look up at him. I look at Vanessa. I look at Will’s pecs.

“I’m not afraid.”

Vanessa nods meaningfully at me.

I spread my arms like a crucifixion. The three of them spread the catnip over my body. I close my eyes and wait. All is still. All is silent, except for some distant meows, and the hum of aquariums, and low-volume metal guitar riffs.

Then the first cat approaches. I know it because I hear the three of them take in a breath, and then a sandpapery tongue is licking the crease of my elbow. Then there’s a paw at my chest. Then a slightly painful gnawing on the top of my head. More join. I do not flinch. I do not sneeze.

My plan has worked. Soon these cats will be scooped up and put back. All will be right in PetWorld. The cats will be kept in their cages and we will get to keep our jobs. Maybe Vanessa will see me as a hero, a cat whisperer.

But in this moment, I suddenly don’t care what she thinks, what anyone thinks. If I can do this, I can do anything. The linoleum is cool against my back. The cats’ whiskers tickle as their teeth and claws dig into my skin, reminding me that I am here. I am alive. I have puncture-able flesh. I look up at the speckled ceiling. The black specks against the white-ish tiles are like a starry night sky in reverse. It’s all so vast and beautiful. Maybe it’s just the catnip, but for this moment, I know that deep down, somewhere in the there, I am wild and free. I’m sure of it.