Oh, I have such a love-hate thing going with goldfish. I love everything about the finny little creatures, watching them and taking care of them, but I hate the nasty habit they have of dying on me despite my best efforts. Through the years I have had at least a hundred; from the dime-store Comet variety to giant $50 Raspberry headed Orandas. They have lived in everything from plain old bowls to climate-controlled aquariums with air pumps with names like "Silent Giant." And between you and me, none of them has lived for more than a few weeks to a month, with one exception: Eartha Kitt Fish.
Eartha was a Black Moor goldfish with long, flowing fins that put me in mind of an evening gown. She lived in a one-gallon bowl that sat on the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room of my single-girl condo. Eartha held court for three years and even had her own tiny Christmas stocking. Friends and family asked about her constantly and she became part of a humorous running commentary. The fantasy world that we concocted for her was far more glamorous than our own; when we weren't watching she sang in French bistros, dated movie stars and supped with Kings and Queens.
My chanteuse of a condo-mate provided more than finny eye-candy. She was a great companion and added a bit of sparkle to not only my life, but to others as well.
Not bad for a $1.75 fish from Woolworth's.
Eartha, it was my privilege to have been the one to feed you and clean your bowl. You continue to swim through my thoughts and all these years later, I still miss you.
