Bad Eyes

I didn’t ask to be an animal caretaker. I’m not even sure I like animals. I’ve always had them because of the kids. Kids leave, but they bring their animals home to me.

This morning I wondered why there was a big empty fish bowl on the counter. Figured Dee’s fish must have died. Why didn’t she dump the water, clean the bowl, and get it off the kitchen counter? It’s a mess in here; a stuffed cluttered refrigerator, expired food, four demanding dog guests, a dead visiting fish, and dog poop all over the yard, which will be mowed today. Being a Meme is worse than being a mom. Meme’s don’t punish or get angry because grandchildren need good grandma memories.  

After feeding the dogs, I take my lunch to the back patio. Dee comes outside and wants to know where her fish went.

“How would I know? I figured the fish was dead.”

No, Meme. I cleaned the bowl. I made it my goal to take better care of him. He’s not even my fish. I’m fish babysitting.  He was in the bowl when I left yesterday.

“Really? Well, he wasn’t in the bowl this morning.”

Yes he was. I know he was in the bowl.

We’re both thinking, thinking, thinking. Where did the fish go?

“Dee, fish don’t have legs. He wasn’t in the bowl, so you didn’t put him in the bowl.”

Sometimes he jumps out of the bowl.  She’s nervous, as she should be.

“Okay, well that’s not good. I threw him away.”

Why would you do that? 

“There was dog pee on the floor and a little turd. I left it as long as I could hoping someone else would clean it up, but no one came. So, I cleaned it up. The turd was the strangest little turd, so I figured it was Puff’s. It kept slipping out of the paper towel.  That nasty turd was disgusting.”

Dee’s sad for the fish, but not angry.

My eyes are not good. I’ve mistaken mice for leaves and now fish for turds.  I’m making an appointment to get my eyes checked.

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