Ex-goldfish

One rainy Saturday, driving round South London where we lived at the time, Mr McG stopped the car and got out, saying he wouldn’t be a minute.

After a very long minute, he reappeared looking suspiciously innocent and sat down. Seconds later his jacket quivered and two kittens peeped out. Samuel and The Little Kitty had just joined the family.

A few months down the road, I came across The Little Kitty toying with daughter L’s surprisingly lifelike goldfish pen. Indeed, when i picked it up, I discovered it WAS a live goldfish. Only dead.

Two days later, The Little Kitty brought a second one over the wall: she was slowly emptying the neighbour’s pond.

We kept a very low profile.

As I stuck the third one in the bin, to my horror it twitched. I firmly ignored it. But my conscience kicked in. So I fished it out (harhar) again. Yes, it was still, just, alive. I put it in a pail of water where it lay, upright, for two more days before The Little Kitty finally dispatched it. Argh.

Samuel was a good boy.