As if this week already hasn't been rough enough...
Last night one of the cats of this house attacked my beloved 4-year-old goldfish, Sailor.
Sailor is a fighter. (S)he came into my life at highschool senior prom - the theme was "Under the Sea" - in all the flower vases on the tables swam little, tiny, 10cent goldfish. At the end of the night, the students were asked to take them home. So I got a fish I named Sailor after our highschool mascot.
Sailor grew to an enormous size. Sailor accompanied me to Notre Dame - and even to my Nashville Retreat where "Sr. Mary Library" made a little paradise for him(her?). Sailor always traveled in a jar - yes, just like Gill from the movie "What About Bob?"
Sailor was a fighter - not only did (s)he withstand thousands of miles of travel, but also K80's demands to jump and do tricks, nights (and days) of frigid water, weeks of filthy water that I never seemed to change. - Sailor even survived falling down the garbage disposal of the kitchen sink!
But this last attack was too much.
After watching the Redwings loose the game last night, I went up to my room - Sailor was not in the fishbowl.
After a minute I noticed a shredded golden tail poking out from under a shirt on the floor - there was Sailor gasping in the air.
Emergency action was taken: Sailor was put in water and watched carefully. Sailor most listed to one side, head down, gasping every few minutes...but Sailor was a fighter and every ten minutes or so would muster all strength to swim a lap around the bowl.
After commending my little fish to the care of Father Francis, I gave up my watch and fell asleep.
In the morning, Sailor was no more.
Rest in peace, Fishy. I'll miss you. :-(