Animal Trickology

I have a pair of clown loaches acquired when the tank was overrun with snails from store-bought waterplants.  A clown loach is a Snail Destructo machine and will scoop the edible part out with the barbs surrounding its mouth, leaving an empty shell behind.  You may have seen them, they are black and yellow striped with red fins and you can also find them on ice in the Asian fish market in much larger, edible sizes. The nature of a clown loach is to play fishy games with each other, chase, bobble, chase, scoot under the other and the game that fools the tank owner, Play Dead.

These fish play dead so convincingly; they lay on their sides on the bottom, unmoving.  Fins up, like a cartoon fish kicking the bucket.  Today one let itself be sucked to the grate of the filter and became stuck there, debris-like and stiff. It was alarming, but I steeled my nerves and waited for the nonchalant thing to remember that fish swim, and therefore continue regular fish life.  This is the Clown loach pledge, that it is not a successful day unless a dose of rigor mortis to unnerve the human has occurred.  If I myself flopped onto the floor in front of the tank feigning expiration, they would not care a dillywag, it's not their nature to be emotionally involved with other species.  The cats would come investigate, however, find that I am still warm, and curl up on top till they thought of dinner.

I can't imagine living without animals in the house, even the Look I'm Dead fish now trailing each other top to bottom in the tank.  There is a nippy angelfish, two cory cats, and the plecostomus who has grown larger than a smallmouth bass with double the temper.  He hates when the tank gets vacuumed, and tries to wham the plastic end of the hose right outta the ballpark.  I let him win, it's good for his psyche.  Other times he will allow rubs on his sides or nose, but mostly he looks at the world through an antediluvian lens, maybe hoping that the annoying loaches would stay permanently dead, not fake dead.  None of my fish like each other, similar to most of the cats who care less for the next cat than a punch in the nose.

None of them sleep together, wash each other or share me very well.  It is a melody of neurotica, and I am the bandleader.  Everyone has their little spot, whatever territories there are have strong boundaries designated right down to the time of day.  I originally got the fish tank so the cats would have something to watch, the tuna channel, but they grew bored very fast.  Who wants to watch fish that aren't moving because they think they are dead?  I could have pasted a picture of a sardine to the wall for the same effect at a better price of upkeep.

The days are warmer than usual for late November, the Christmas lights hang sodden in the rain over wet brown lawns.  I hope the jerk downstairs loses interest in hearing himself, the man has a microphone attached to some sort of electronic abomination which broadcasts his angry f-ing game no way this f-ing game f! at 2 AM.  I wish he'd play dead.  As a person who owns many cats, I am careful about complaining about what to who in this place and so far I manage to get back to sleep.  I can only hope his vocabulary expands beyond single syllables.

It has been nighttime for a while, the sun sets low towards the southeast these beginning winter days, and dark covers all those activities you wouldn't think about doing twice at 8 in the summer.  Time to hit the hay, let the dreams come and wash free the questions of why.  Cats curl or roll paws up, fish settle under the submerged knotted branches, plants close leaves, I lock doors and shut windows.  Sleep, dream, wish, create, do.  With love.