While this problem is now under control, I will admit that my impulsive and selfish actions have, in the past, caused harm to God's creatures. Not, like, mortal harm or anything, but maybe severe discomfort...
Case #1: Chubbah and Flubbah
With their fat little bodies and opalescent, bulging scales, who can resist these lazy little pearlscale goldfish? I know I couldn't. Neither could I resist the $15 two-gallon fishtank and cute, purple rubber coral ornament!
So Chubbah and Flubbah came home with me and took up residence on top of my entertainment center. We were happy together at first. I would spend time watching them bob around in their tank (pearlies are terrible swimmers. You would be too if your proportions were that wonky), chasing after the little nuggets of special Japanese fish food and flakes of dried bloodworm (to keep their air bladders healthy. I was conscientious, ya know...), and just being generally cute. I was soothed by the bubbling sound of the tank's air filter, and I enjoyed the soft tanklight that illuminated my living room. Each night before bed I would turn out their little light and wish them sweet sleep. We had the perfect goldfish-human relationship.
But soon, layers of green film began to grow on the tank walls, caking the plastic plants and rubber coral, hindering the sight of my cute little friends. I cleaned the tank for a while, and then I didn't. And I didn't, and I didn't and I didn't.
Now, I'm not always known for my rationality. I'll admit that. And in my mind, I thought, "Who would want to eat in such a filthy environment?" So I didn't feed the fish. I mean, I didn't starve them to death. They didn't die after all. They just kind of developed fishy-anorexia.
I didn't want to admit my failure, but I didn't want to clean the tank either. So, I did what any good pet owner would do. I paid my little sister to do it for me. She earned $5 per cleaning, and I had a pretty, clean tank! Perfect arrangement!
But Lindsey soon decided that $5 was not worth cleaning my tank. So, once again, my fish starved in their algae-infested world. I'll be honest--I had guilt! I was ashamed of my dirty, neglegted tank. I was embarressed by the pleading look in those little fishy eyes. But I really didn't want to clean the dang tank!
One day, I came home from work and glanced at my entertainment center. The tank was gone! Did it implode under the weight of its own slime? Did the fish-gods relieve me of my fishly duties? Was I robbed?
My mom wandered into my living room and gave me "The Look."
"I rescued your poor fish," she explained. "They're upstairs, clean and well-fed. Don't buy any more fish."
Man, I hate it when moms are right.
For a while, Chubbah and Flubbah flourished in my mom's care. They grew fat and happy, and spent their days peering with google-eyes through crystal clear tank walls. They were loved--they were cared for.
As often happens in the aquatic world, Flubbah developed a tumor on top of his little head. He floundered, he failed, and he died. Feeling sorry for Chubbah, my mom bought a feeder fish, Gloria, to keep him company.
Again, fishy-balance was achieved. The two lived in harmony...until the time came for Chubbah to visit the giant Toilet Bowl in the Sky.
Now Gloria sits alone in a fishbowl on top of my mom's china closet. Her existance no longer warrents the trouble of maintaining a whole two-gallon tank. A few days ago, my mom asked me if Gloria could come live with me. After all, it's my fault she was purchased in the first place!
"No Mom," I replied. "I only have room for one Gloria in my life." Besides, I'm only just learning how to keep the houseplants alive.