Last week, Tuna came to stay with us while his owner, Karen, went to Sweden on a family vacation.
We cared for and loved Tuna very much. We fed him 2-3 times per day and gave him fresh water mid-week, as instructed.
On the Fourth of July, Tuna didn't eat his breakfast. He hung out at the side of his bowl, gulping listlessly.
Finally, after we got back from the pool that afternoon, I discovered him, dead. I furtively (and solemnly) removed Tuna from the bowl before Kibi could see.
The next day, I told Kibi that Tuna was sick and had had to leave our house for the fish hospital. Meanwhile, wouldn't it be exciting to go to the pet store and buy K. a new fish? DH, Kibi and I schlepped out to Petco.
Kibi, upon setting foot inside the pet store, gagged and threw up (quite literally) due to the "animal smells" in the store. When we asked him what was wrong, he said he didn't like the "poop smell" and that he didn't want to go into any other "smelly stores".
So, no replacement fish for the time being. I might see if he's up for a ride to the store today, but in some ways I feel I might be pushing my luck. Karen, if you're reading this, let me again say how very sorry I am for letting Tuna die on my watch. The sad thing is, this isn't the first time it's happened. Pretty much the same thing happened to "Tuna I" a few years ago.
What is it with me and goldfish? Do I have a Bermuda Triangle thing going on?
Anyway, RIP Tuna II. You were a good fish. The fact that you died on Independence Day makes your passing all the more poetic, in my opinion.