The Lonely Goldfish

My first pets were two goldfish called Mickey and Minnie. I was three. Names didn’t have to be original then.

I only have one memory of them, and it is probably the reason I am not overly fond of fish as pets to this day.

It was early. It must have been early because I was the only person awake. If anyone else had been up, this memory could never have happened. As they always did, the fish swam around, occasionally coming up to the top of the bowl to silently beg for food.

The life of a goldfish can’t be an interesting one. Or at least, the life of a pet goldfish in the 1980s, in a clear plastic bowl with rainbow coloured gravel can’t. As far as I can remember, they didn’t even have a tiny castle to swim around. They might have been given some plastic seaweed to swim through.

That morning, I was feeling particularly sorry for my fish. It was obvious, to my mind, that they must be terribly lonely. I mean, how could they not be? They couldn’t even hug each other. Fins were never made for hugging.

Well, that couldn’t possibly be allowed to continue. They were my fish. So, I needed to let them know that they were loved. And what could possibly be a better way to show them that they were loved than giving them a big hug?

Reaching the top of the tank wasn’t difficult. Chairs are incredibly useful things; did you know that? They can be moved around easily, and they are the perfect height to let a child reach just about anywhere they could possibly need to. Reaching into the tank and catching the fish was a little bit more difficult. They were very naughty fish. You’d think they didn’t want to be hugged! That was silly, of course. Everyone wants to be hugged.

I couldn’t tell you which of the fish I caught first. A quick hug, and it was back in the water. I caught the other and gave that fish the same treatment. There. Responsible pet ownership proved. My fish had to know that I loved them, now.

Except there was something very wrong. They should have gone back to their aimless swimming, or maybe they’d have come up to the top of the tank and done their silent begging for food thing. But they didn’t do either. Mickey was moving feebly, but Minnie was just floating on the top of the tank.

Right. This was clearly a bigger problem than I could deal with. Time for a grown-up. Mum would be able to fix my fish. She might not be happy with me. I’d got very wet in giving them a hug. But she’d understand when I explained that they had been lonely and needed a hug.

To be completely fair to my long-suffering mum, she was brilliant. It can’t have been an easy thing to be confronted by a soaking wet child with blood on the front of their nightie first thing in the morning. Hearing the reason for both was probably not the ideal way of starting the day. Looking at it now, with the benefit of over three decades experience, I’m not at all sure that I could be as calm as I remember her being.

She got up, sorted out the fish I had accidentally killed, got me dressed, and then tried to explain to me what I’d done. Now, it is one of her favourite stories. I suppose there can’t be too many people who literally kill their pets with kindness. I think I will stick with rats now. They are happy to be hugged!