Came up today to my office to meditate. You know to try and deal with the whole loosing a beloved pet. I found my Siamese Fighting Fish, Gorey (after Edward Gorey the artist), floating dead in his bowl. He’s a fish, and I’ve had him for two years, which is pretty good for the kind of fish he is, but still . . . it was not a happy thing to find him dead. He was the only black betta I’d ever found. Black with brilliant blue tips to his fins; a crown betta, which always looks like they have tentacles to me. The other name I contemplated for him was Lovecraft. Not a good week for pets. I must say that, the meditation was working up hill after I found him floating. Sigh. I mean what the f**ck?
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