RIP, Scuttle.

"I'm kind of bummed out," my mom tells me over the phone tonight.  I wasn't too concerned.  My mom is bummed if they don't have her size at Ann Taylor.  But this time she had reason to be bummed, and rightly sad.  Our 13+ year old goldfish Scuttle had just died. 

Scuttle is an institution at the Lee Household.  He made so many people happy, from my 2-year old cousin to my 89-year old grandma.  He weathered his share of storms, too.  Within the first week of acquiring him at a carnival in downtown SF he was swimming sideways, and we were prepared to give him the flush.  But he bounced right back, and from then we deemed him a special fish.  He's survived the vicious stares of a hungry cat, and even an accidental out of water experience when he fell on the hardwood floor during a cleaning.  What a fish.

This fish had personality.  He had a way of greeting you when you entered the room, probably more so out of hunger than affection.  He reminded you when he wasn't yet fed after the lights had already been turned out for the evening.  Plink, plink, plunk was the sound as he sucked in the water at the surface of the bowl to make his presence known.  Flick went the lights when we realized our mistake.

No, we haven't forgotten you, Scuttle. 

"We eat fish all the time," said my mom over the phone tonight, "but Scuttle was special."  He wasn't much bigger than an anchovy, and for one pet fish we are sure making a big deal.  "He's graceful in death," proclaimed my mom.  "He looks like he belongs in a science museum or something."  I love my mom.  I don't think a taxidermist would take interest, but for us who are grieving, he will sure be missed.

* Below: This was the last time I saw Scuttle before heading back to the Big D.  He had been suffering from swim bladder disease for the past couple of months, causing him to swim upside down.  He kept us entertained, even to the end.