If I had a fish, that fish would be SO bored with my talking to it.
“Hello, fishie. Isn’t it nice out today? Don’t you like your pretty little trees? I just played racquetball again. I wish you could play with me, but you can’t. You’re a fish.”
The fish would plot your murder.
They say (and how “they” know this I can not imagine – little fishy questionnaires?) that goldfish are able to recognize their usual care givers.
I think they are like my cats, and recognize the treat box…
Ah, yes! Vachel’s “enhanced interrogation.” Think of a group of pre-K children singing “The Song That Has No End” — any minute now the fish will be spilling everything it knows about the forthcoming toilet invasion. That’s where fishes swim up the pipes into everyone’s toilets to bite the butts of all the fisheaters and thus trigger the liberation of their aquarium’d brothers and sisters!
In a word, T-Day.
Uh, it (he? she?) could just swim down the plumbing and find its way back to the creek or wherever it was before, right? Or maybe not. Who knows where inexplicable cave plumbing would lead?
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