I just got a message from my sister saying that my nephew's fish, Bruce Wayne, has been brutally killed. Bruce was a fighting fish, a black one with blueish fins.
Apparently my mother (and I'm still trying to work out the logistics of this) took Bruce to a school visit so he could help her with an exercise. There, she put him in the sink for some unknown reason. While attempting to retrieve the fish using a drinking glass, she accidentally squished him.
Last week I was all worried Mom was going to starve Bruce to death because she told me that she couldn't find his food and, as a result, noone had fed him for 2 days. Gah! "If you can't find the food, buy new food," said I. When she told me she'd found the food, I was so relieved. Little did I know that Bruce's days were numbered.
Back when I lived at home, I used to make sure Bruce was fed. If his bowl was dirty, I cleaned it. (And never killed him doing it. although I never once put him in the sink). It saddens me that the poor guy is gone, that he wasn't taken care of. Sure, he's just a fish, but he was a good fish.