Survivor, movie star, brilliant student: this was a fish who never ceased to surprise. She made me believe in magic
When my goldfish was pronounced dead, it was thanks to the ingenuity of our cat, Maz. He himself was a fine old fellow, a big, muscular black-and-white thing who looked like he had got into a fair amount of fights as a younger cat. He loved eating pieces of melon, and, as it turned out, fish. While we were changing the water in Charlotte’s tank, a fish bowl was placed high on top of a shelving unit in our dining room. On that fateful day, Maz somehow made it to the top of the shelving unit and – quite daintily I imagine – flipped the fish out of the bowl and on to the floor. He didn’t eat her – he just tortured her.
When my notoriously squeamish auntie came in to find the fish lying on the floor, she screamed and, rather than putting her back in the bowl, decided she was dead and that her boyfriend would have to deal with it. Auntie could just about bring herself to cover the dearly departed with a kitchen towel as she waited for him to arrive. I imagine she was trying to think of how she would explain to six-year-old me that my favourite pet had carked it. But when her boyfriend arrived and picked the fish up, she started flapping. More than an hour after the attack, Charlotte was alive. My family considered it nothing short of a miracle in a day and age when you were more likely to flush a dead goldfish down the toilet than nurture it into old age.
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