Something fishy is going on in my house. And it’s a matter of life and death.
That’s because Camilla, the latest in our endless series of pet fish, tragically went belly-up, something the little creatures tend to do with dismaying frequency. Mayflies are like Methuselah compared to some of the fish we have had.
The demise of Camilla meant I had to get a replacement in time for a visit by my granddaughters Chloe and Lilly, who fully expected to greet their fine finny friend and sprinkle food flakes in its bowl, which they couldn’t very well do if the fish, after a solemn toilet-side service, had already been flushed to kingdom come.
