Tropical fish have been a hobby of mine since I was a teenager, and I’ve had aquariums pretty much nonstop my entire adult life, minus a few stretches when I was living in apartments. Even then, I still had a goldfish bowl or two.
When I was 17, I ducked into a tropical fish store one day to inquire about a Help Wanted sign posted in the window. The owner walked me around the displays, stopping every now and then to quiz me. He peppered me with questions like, Which of these platys is male? and What is the correct temperature range for tropical fish? and Can this cichlid coexist peacefully with that angelfish? I aced the test and got the job, while most of my friends had to make do slinging burgers at fast-food joints. As far as first jobs go, mine was pretty rad.
(The one with the pointy rear fin, 75° – 80°, not unless you want a massacre on your hands.)
I’ve also had cats most of my adult life. They’ve always coexisted peacefully with the fish…until Shirley came along. Her favorite pastime is jumping up next to the tank, staring the fish down, and trying to catch them by swatting at the plexiglass. When she’s really determined, we can hear her claws clicking against the tank from a room or two away.
Apparently, she really likes sushi.
The fish, for their part, don’t seem too bothered. How is this even possible?! If I glanced out the living room window and saw a giant with his nose pressed against the glass, a hungry look on his face, beating furiously against the windows with his hands, I would shit my pants. There’s no way to put it delicately.
I know the fish can see through the aquarium just fine, because they make a beeline for the surface, swimming around excitedly whenever I approach to feed them. Maybe experience has taught them that Shirley will never, ever be able to reach them through the plexiglass.
(Oh, and yes, that is a flamingo in the tank. And a whiskey barrel. Guess I furnished the aquarium as if I were living there.)
Though Shirley has never caught a damn thing, I admire her perseverance. She’s got a can-do attitude I find admirable. Or maybe she’s just stubborn? Like father, like cat daughter, I s’pose.
Wondering what Laverne is up to when Shirley’s gone fishin’?
That’s right: lolling around on the dining room floor next to the aquarium, looking for belly rubs. She has never even so much as glanced at the fish.
Oh, Laverne. Dear, sweet Laverne. There’s only one tiger in this house, and eenie, meenie, miney, moe, you are not it.
Mark My Words 
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