Well.
Hello again.
Since this thing seems to have been read by someone (thanks to a certain blond, nerdy lesbian unionist that we all know and tolerate (the whore)) I suppose an update is in order.
So here it is.
Well obviously, you're reading it.
Moving on!
I have some tragic news for you all. Yes, the other fish has recently passed on. Circumstances are similar to the other one, though pro biotic poison does not seem to have played a part in Sherlock's (possibly) untimely demise. He's swimming with the angels now, his little fishy soul, swimming into the aquatic abyss
*Moments Silence*
Goodnight sweet prince, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
On the subjects of pets popping their clogs, I find myself looking back on my own furry (and non furry) familiars over the years. I find myself thinking that either I'm a terrible owner, or I always pick bad ones.
Let me take you back now, to my first ever proper pet (I say proper, as I cant remember anything before that, apart from some goldfish called Flotsam and Jetsum, and lets face it, Ive exhausted the fishy material)
But anyway, my first pet was a snow white rabbit that I called, in my all my four year old charm, Snuggles (Stop snickering, I was only little). Snuggles was adorable, everything you wanted in a pet, small, quiet, didn't require to much attention and cute to look at. And pregnant at the time of purchase, as it turned out. Yes, shortly after we got her, and after she maimed me by biting my finger I might add (a grievous injury to a four old), she popped out, if memory serves, seven kittens, which she went on to kill, including my own personal favourite, Jumpy (wipe that smirk off your face right now)
Not too long after her wiping out her offspring, she disappeared for a day or two. Having drawn the conclusion she had escaped and was now probably a menace to the woodland world, we were much surprised when she was suddenly outside the back door, barbed wire around her fluffy white neck.
Twas rather strange and scarring.
Moving on! (again)
A large dog, and three cats (one of which we still have) later, I had since moved from Enniscorthy out to Kiltealy, into a lime green mobile home (which you should not talk to me about ever) to my current home.
A...certain length of time after I moved in here, we got two terrapins and named them Darcy and Yoda (I was in the middle of my Pride and Prejudice phase, it was awesome, you start using words like amiable and advantageous in regular conversation). If you're thinking of getting terrapins, don't. They do fuck all all day and cost a fortune to keep. They're nice to look at for about ten minutes, then you get bored and wish you had bought a DS or something. Not unfortunately they died soon after, in what seemed to be simultaneous suicide.
Luckily for me (I didn't poison them I swear), this resulted in an empty tank, suitable for a reptile of some description. Having had been whining to my parents for the last ages to get me a snake, they now had no more excuses, other than my mothers Heebie Jeebies.
So on my fifteenth birthday, I got a small coral called Zafrina (I was in the middle of my Breaking Dawn phase, mock me later) I instantly knew we would hit it off in the pet shop, when my brother picked her up and she peed on him.
Then once again, tragedy struck, on Mothers Days, a mere three months after I got her, I came home from a day out at the garden centre (that is what one does on Mothers Day, despite the size of ones garden), to find her coiled an stiff, her once vibrant colour faded, due to her sudden, violent and irreversible cessation of life.
*Another moments silence*
She is buried beneath my favourite tree in the garden, a large sycamore with red leaves and easy to climb. She is and will always be sorely missed.
One might draw the conclusion that I think pets should be avoided altogether, but to the contrary, I find nothing more rewarding than caring and nurturing something, and having it repay you by pissing on your brother.
I leave you with this wisdom
Good luck
