Animal Attractions

I should have spent more time listening in biology class in High School. Instead, I was probably doodling my favorite much aged now Canadian rock star's name onto a piece of paper, willing my then frizzy hair to fall prey to the laws of gravity, or passing notes to my friends lamenting on the status of these two issues. 

As a result, I'm in a spot because I haven't a clue about the life cycle of fishes and arachnids.  This week, my knowledge on this subject matter meant life or death consequences! First of all, most of you now know about the two guppies with the unfortunate names, Bemy and Chany, that have come to live with us. They are otherwise known as our five year old, Lanes', first pets, and now apparently, her dutiful father, P's, responsibility.

Fish give me the heebee-jeebies. Some people are scared of clowns, others snakes.  For me my top fears are roaches, ghosts, water and enter drum roll here, fish. Yes, fish. I'm special that way. I don't mind looking at them in a tank, but the thought of ever touching one freaks me out beyond belief. Shudder!

Turns out Chany is rather aggressive. P noticed that he was chasing Bemy and trying to get his tail. Lanes and I thought they were playing, and so I just ignored P a little because he was just going on too much about how he is knows a lot about fish on account of having lots of pet fish as a child.
A few days later, I noticed poor Bemy had a little piece of tail missing and I was really upset. I thought fish were rather insipid and had as much personality as stale tea, but my mother kept insisting they are smarter than they look and have quite the personalities.

Turns out, she was right. As I'm getting older, I have sadly noticed that several things I chastise and tease her for saying are actually true and she is right a lot of the time. If only Lanes will say the same of me one day, but I digress.

I noticed that as soon as I approached the tank, Chany stopped chasing Bemy and fled, and Bemy came up to me and looked at my face, no doubt pleading for me to stay around. So I did, and then I tapped on the tank whenever I could to keep them apart. I told P to separate the two but he was 'too tired'.

The next day, most of Bemy's tail was gone and he was looking rather green about the gills, no pun intended. I told P he really has to get him out but again according to him, what do I know? So the next morning, Bemy passed away and I found him wedged between a seashell and the hideously lovely hot pink gravel Lanes had chosen. I told P to take him out and say a prayer.

Of course, P tried to be smart and smugly said that everyone knows fish float when they die. Knowing that Bemy was well disguised and that Lanes wouldn't spot him and be traumatized, I let it go because I had things to do. I couldn't bear the thought of sticking my hand in the tank, so I thought I'd taunt P about it later.

In the evening, P fished Bemy out, hopefully feeling foolish as his gaffowing that I didn't know dead fish float. As I do with most fools around me, I just rolled my eyes at him and ignored him and his now toned down attitude and said a prayer. We had more important fish to fry because we had to tell Lanes that her pet had gone to the great beyond.

Luckily, or not, over the summer she had a play date with a friend she met in ballet class and this girl told her all about death. Meanwhile, her mother and I thought they were blowing bubbles and playing tag. If only we knew!
I remained blissfully ignorant until a few days after the play date. Lanes and I were on the bus on the way home after an outing and she suddenly looked sad. She said, "Mamma, if your pet dies, you get another one from the store. That's what 'Nancy' told me".  She got all quiet and then said 'Mamma, are you going to get old and die? Nancy said that's what happens. You get old and then you die. I don't want you to die. Do children die?'

I was left to assure Lanes that I was grumpy enough to jet propel myself into a ripe old age and that she had nothing to worry about. Why doesn't P ever get caught to these conundrums? I was taken aback at first, but then in a way I was glad Nancy told her all about this in a very practical way.

So we didn't have to run to the store and replace Bemy without her knowledge, we told her the truth and she accepted it bravely.  She wanted to name her next fish Bemy again but didn't want to go choose it. P set off and came back grinning with the biggest guppy in the store. When we were resting the fish bag in the tank initially, Chaney was not amused!

He kept sassing the bag and eyeing his new companion. So far Bemy #2 is holding his own. Unlike his predecessor, he doesn't run for his life. Instead he nonchalantly butts him away. He is only interested in when meal time is. We'll see how long that lasts. P is rather pleased with himself for selecting him, claiming he looked tough. To me a fish is a fish is a fish. Poor guy needs to get out more.

Meanwhile, after all that drama, I deposited myself on the couch when P and Lanes were asleep. I was wishing I didn't have to stick to my liver diet and I was swearing at the thought of eating bean curds and thinking of how much I weigh when a little spider dangled itself in front of my eyes and nearly scared me to death.

I got over my Miss Muffet moment and sprang into action since I am the official catcher of bugs, arachnids and reptiles in our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous apartment. I grumbled and grabbed a tissue paper to put him out. I looked at the wall and noticed there were about eight to ten more tiny spiders. That's not good.

My little brain was petrified of an infestation. P was snoring so there was no chance to share any concerns. Plus, it would really freak him out--he can't deal with spiders. I put about five out and couldn't reach the rest. I tried to climb the sofa but I was more likely to fall through to the floor below than secure the others. I'm as nimble as a hippo with a hula hoop.

As I got off the sofa with all the grace of a camel in heels, I noticed a huge black mother spider on the floor. I felt horrible. I had just put half her babies onto the balcony! It was dark and they were so tiny, I couldn't possibly reunite them. I tried to catch her to put her out but she ran away. I saw her again last night. She is way to agile for my liking.

My night was ruined. I had separated a spider family--only I would be upset over these things.  I was in fear of what happens when those baby spiders I couldn't get out grow up. Of course I googled that and then worried some more. So much for enjoying a CSI marathon on TV. I went to bed distraught about convinced that I had tiny baby spiders crawling on the back of my neck. It was not a good night.

Meanwhile, our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous apartment is being pressure washed. We got a note to put everything on our balcony inside but the washers never came our way. P had grand hopes of riding a bike and using a BBQ. He inherited the former from our Uncle Rhondo and the latter from my nutty sister, who is quite fond of giving things away. These two items are now sadly residing on our balcony.

So far they are star attractions for dust mites and have mislead several of our guests into thinking that P leads an active lifestyle and knows his way about a grill. I had to swear and lug these things into the apartment yesterday, only to find no power washers came our way. P put them out again.

After I dropped Lanes at school, I was drenched with water droplets that smell like pond scum. Annoyed that I woke up early and did laundry only to get doused by water that could cause Hepatitis, I ran up and took a shower only to find that the power washers were doing our side. Now I have to sign off and figure out how to lug the grill and the bike again. I think I'll let it go. They both do need a wash. More musings from BC next week...