My dad grew up in a home with a wavy tin roof. I always thought that sounded nice, but he claims the only people who believe that live under shingles. Although the neighborhood was respectable, his house was run-down and in disrepair. The neighborhood had gentrified around his parents, but this was still the city. The streets teamed with feral cats at night. The second everyone went inside, cats in heat went out and prowled for mates. Calling and calling and calling with that throaty rumble that never stops. The males answered in clowders (had to look that one up) and fought for the females. The prowling, calling, and fighting all happened on the roofs that went up and down the street named after a General, but nowhere did it happen as loudly as it did on my dad’s tin roof.
He knew they were cats. Logically, he knew this. But in the middle of the night logic flies out the window when you are seven years old. Cats in heat on a roof? Maybe. La Llorona and her demon friends off to spirit a boy off in the middle of the night for teasing that neighborhood girl with his dogs? Much, much more likely.
My mom was that neighborhood girl. The more she ignored him, the more offended he became. He even tried to impress her with his Boxer and Pomeranian and a soccer ball, but it turned out she was afraid of dogs and terrible at sports. She told him his dog tricks were stupid–little kid stuff–and to leave her alone because she had important big kid stuff to do, like walk to the bakery for her mom. He left her alone after that, but he also made sure to leave the gate open enough for the dogs to sneak out and chase her down the street to her fancy baker.
He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something really satisfying about the sound of her screaching traveling down the street so fast, even if it meant that in the middle of the night he wasn’t always sure those were cats on his roof.
My dad never got over his loathing for cats and my mom never stopped fearing dogs. The end result for me was a home with a series of outside beagles and fish tanks. I always helped my dad clean the fish tanks. I knew it was time to clean the tanks when he would put on his bathing trunks and an unflattering muscle tank top from Mexico. He would bring in from the garage a large paint bucket full of supplies and begin by suctioning off some water. I secretly hoped he would one day accidentally taste tank water, but it never happened.
I’ve liked fish tanks ever since, no doubt because they are tied to such fun memories with my dad. Though I love them, I’ve never had one of my own because fish really do belong in their natural environment. Finding Nemo kind of ruined fish tanks for me.
There is a church fair we attend every year, and every year they have the goldfish toss. You know, where you toss the ball and win a fish if you make it into a bowl? It’s always the most popular booth at the fair. Almost two years ago, when Nicholas was three, we let him toss the ball three times thinking it would be cute. He won three fish. The Mister was not amused. I wasn’t either, but I was also determined. I figured these were the luckiest three fish of the bunch. Certainly luckier than the 10 fish that were going home with that twelve year-old with the wicked pitching arm and unlimited supply of carnival tickets. I try not to think of those fish–no doubt crammed into a bowl–and the other fish that probably fared as badly at the close of the fair.
Summer is coming, and with it, more fairs. If you happen to find yourself in possession of some goldfish, here are five facts you may not know.
- Goldfish live for a very long time. How long is a long time? If I take care of our fish well, they could see Mikey and Nico off to college…and back again. So, 10 to 25 years.
- Goldfish have long memories, too. They may seem like dim bulbs, but goldfish memorize routines, recognize their owners, and can learn to do tricks. Our fish–Isaac, Georgie Boy, and G.I. Joe–always recognize and greet me when I come near their tank. My desk sits across from them, and when I am working they hang out on the side of the tank closest to me. This sounds silly, but they like for me to talk to them in a sing-song voice. They’ll swim up very, very close when I do. (Pictures 1 and 4.)
- Goldfish need space. Goldfish that live in bowls die quickly because goldfish (fancy looking carp, really) are dirty fish. They need lots of water and filtration, and in an ideal world you should have 10 gallons of water for every goldfish in your tank. (I have 3 fish in a 20 gallon tank, so I’m a bit short.)
- Goldfish like to swim out, not up. They like to hang out at the bottom of the tank and pick at the rocks, so buy a tank that is more wide than tall. Tropical fish like to go up and down, so tall tanks are better suited for them.
- Goldfish are peaceful, but greedy. They are docile and meek. A smaller, more aggressive fish will easily clean the tank with them. On the other hand, goldfish are gluttons. They’ll steal food from slower eaters and then beg for more. For this reason, it’s best to keep goldfish with goldfish. It’s not even a great idea to mix different kinds of goldfish together in the same tank.
- Bonus Fact: Goldfish are hardy. I don’t know everything there is to know about them, but I’ve been learning over the last two years. I’ve made huge mistakes. I almost killed them a month or two ago when I added something to the tank on accident. It was upsetting to say the least, and I know at least a few of you watched me lose my marbles all over Twitter. Thank goodness they are made tough.
Picture 1: Isaac is the smallest and most curious.
Picture 2: G.I. Joe often hangs out by himself and likes to show off his scales.
Picture 3: Georgie Boy and Isaac are almost always together. Isaac is the little one making eye contact.
Picture 4: Georgie Boy and Isaac listening to me sing.
Picture 5: G.I. Joe, the lone wolf.
I loved this story, Jules!
When we got married, our first rental house didn’t allow for pets of the large, hairy sort. I was dying for a puppy, but we settled on fish. I felt silly saying that I liked coming home to them, but the fact of the matter was, I DID! They would always swim up to the top of the tank and let me pet them. Crazy.
Anyway, we went through a large assortment of neon tetras and those sucker fish that clean the tank (we named the first one “Binford” in honor of the old “Home Improvement” show – we went on to have “Binford” 2000 and 3000 as they didn’t seem to last long). We also picked up two .25 cent “feeder” gold fish on a whim – a gold one and a black one. We named them George and Ike. They stuck it out with us for 2.5 years (by that time we had moved and acquired a very hyper-active St. Bernard) before we got tired of cleaning the tank. We decided to give them their “freedom” at a local pond. I’d like to think they are still swimming around, but I’m guessing they went back to their “feeder fish” status and became turtle food. :-(
Whatever the case, there are times when we think about getting fish again because, like it or not, they are fun to watch and yes, even personable. :-)
I almost let Isaac, Georgie Boy, and G.I. Joe (didn’t name them!) go free in our local pond, but I think it’s illegal and they were really, really small. I was afraid they’d be fish food. (Ours are cheap feeder fish, too.)
Jules, you’ll love this. My son has a tank in his room with three large goldfish. We’re going away to our cottage for 5 weeks this summer. What are we doing with the fish? Setting up a whole new tank at the cottage and transporting the fish with us. His plan involves a tupperware bin with an aerator running in it for the 8 hour drive. (We were at the cottage last weekend and the new tank is already set up with water ready for the fish).
We also have a large koi pond on our backyard – watching the fish is my husband’s favorite thing to do. :-)
That’s a boy after my own heart. :)
I love that you can make a story about goldfish and their care so personal and interesting. My only foray into fish ownership was the beautiful goldfish my boyfriend gave me on my 18th birthday. Sometime between midnight and 6 am the next morning, that goldfish died. I should have taken that ominous hint as a metaphor for the relationship!
Hah!
So Ani DiFranco was wrong? The little plastic castle is NOT a surprise every time? Crushed.
Ha!
+250 points
Awesome!
Good grief . . . those pictures of the fish are just too much. I know I don’t need to say it, but I must: loved this post!
I’ve had fish but once in my life. My brother had spinal meningitis when he was 6 months old; when he came home from the hospital we were given wee little fish, because my brother liked to watch them so. They all committed suicide. They were dark, dark days . . . :)
I shouldn’t be laughing, but I am!
I really liked the fourth picture (the looks on their faces!) and then when I read that this was you singing to them, I LOVED it!! I killed goldfish before I learned they needed a tank and not a bowl :( But we had a beta fish who lasted for a very long time, and he definitely responded to us. I still prefer my pets warm and fuzzy, but these goldfish are pretty appealing.
BTW – I clicked on your clowder link even though I did know what it means, and to my delight discovered a new word for a group of cats – a glaring. PERFECT! We have two indoor and now also feed three outdoor cats. In the mornings they are ALL glaring at me from their various positions, so I have a glaring glaring. :)
I still prefer my pets warm and fuzzy, too, but I had no idea until these cheap little feeders how personable fish could be. The three of them are looking at me right now!
p.s. A glaring glaring! :)
We had fish on and off all the years my kids were at home, but I learned much from this post, thanks for the tutorial. What I don’t need to be reminded of though is how much I detested cleaning tanks. One goldfish, Peach, grew so large I feared she would have to be dinner. Our beta, Wang Chung, lived long, but played dead with alarming frequency.
Also? Our house has a metal roof, and one of my favorote things in the world is the sound the rain makes on it. You’re invited anytime. We can William Morris.
Hah! But do you have cats in the neighborhood? ;)
My friend goes to the same fair I do, and their fish is almost four years old. It seriously looks like a flounder. The thing is huge!
what a great story about your parents!
My six year old sister won a goldfish at the school fundraiser, and my mom kept that fish till my sister went to high school, so…six years? Then I moved into a new apartment, decided to get some fish, and my mom gave it to me. I brought it home to my new place, put it in its new tank, and the next morning it was dead. I’ve never lived it down.
One more reason not to drink the water in northern NJ.
I have never been a goldfish fan, but you almost have me convinced. They look so personable in those pictures, too!
We keep large tanks of goldfish at work (don’t worry – the students just do observation experiments with them!) and I’m eternally grateful that I only have to step in when our student worker is on vacation. Do not love cleaning those tanks.
I won several fair goldfish as a child, but they all died quickly. My mom finally figured out that I was sticking my hand in the tank to pet them constantly. Not such a good idea.
All I can think of are (feral) cats on hot tin roofs. That, and those are perhaps the cutest happy-sad fish photos I’ve ever seen.
Last weekend we went out to the country to visit friends. There were so many barn cats roaming around the farm. Scruffy and tough, yet many of them were exceptionally fluffy (it kind of weirded me out). They were roaming around like they completely owned the place (maybe they did).
What a great story about your father, I can totally imagine the sounds and the belief that they were evil spirits. Cats in heat, not a pretty sound.
I love hearing my father talk about his childhood and youth. The tales are pretty fantastic – is that something about growing-up poor? The stories are so much more full, it seems like the more bad luck there was, the more exciting and beautiful the stories become.
The combination of poverty and immigrant does seem to make for some amazing stories. No has proved that one better than Frank McCourt!
I was totally thinking Angela’s ashes too… Honestly, my dad’s upbringing was all too like that story, only worse (if you can imagine).
No, I can’t. Or I guess I can but don’t want to. My dad has some sketchy stories, too.
Loved your backstory. I’m half Mexican-American, so know all about La Llorona. My grandparents lived near the San Gabriel riverbed, and she hung out there, too. (She gets around.)
I’m thinking I need to switch to goldfish. We had 2 betas (in separate bowls) and both died within the year. My daughter has refused to allow ANY pets into our house since her beta died 3 years ago. Thinking some long-living & personable goldfish may ease her into the puppy I’m determined to get.
Your grandparents lived by the riverbed? Crikey–I wouldn’t have left the house once it got dark outside! La Llorona and riverbeds pretty much go hand in hand.
I was like your daughter when our beagle Prince, died. My dad took it as an opportunity to buy a boxer, which I considered a huge betrayal. Of course that dog was the spawn of the devil. I was quite smug about it, too. Eventually we gave him to a friend who had lots of land and large dogs for company, but the poor thing was eventually put down. It really was street-rat crazy.
I love those fishy faces in pictures 1 and 4! The pouts!
I KNOW! :D
I love the story of how your dad tormented your mom…someday I hope you tell the story of how the tide turned in their relationship! (and the fish are lovely – my beta would jump up and attempt to bite me when I fed him – he lasted about 3 years out of 4 of pharmacy school)
The tide is always turning in that relationship! We’re getting sea sick. ;)
I always wanted a beta fish because they were so pretty–then I heard that you couldn’t keep them together in pairs or they would fight to the death!
After reading this, I had to tell you about the phone call I made to my mom. My sister won a goldfish at a church fair when she was 10 years old. 11 years later, Penelope is still going strong with many thanks to my Dad for continuing to care for it. After reading how long they can live, I immediately called my mom who just started laughing/crying and could not believe that they would have “15 more years of cleaning that stupid tank!” (Can you tell it’s not her favorite job?)
On a side note: they are hardy animals. Penelope used to jump out of her tank and one morning was “dead” on the floor. All the water from her splashing had already evaporated so it was anyone’s guess how long she had been there. My dad didn’t have time to do anything with her before work so he put her back in her tank. When he got home from work she was happily swimming away. Needless to say, we now have a cover for the tank so she can’t jump out anymore. Anyway, great post and hopefully yours last as long as Penelope!
Ahahahaha! Your poor mom. :) I dread cleaning the tank, but when I do it’s actually very peaceful. I spend a lot of the time talking to the fish, which I suppose makes me crazy.
I can’t believe that story about Penelope! Talk about hardy!!!
Sometimes I find myself reading your blog and wishing we were neighbors which I realize sounds kind of blog stalkery, but being we both are in blog world maybe not all that stalkery. Anyway…I’ve just been reading for the last month or so and you make me smile. Thanks for being in this little corner of the world and making mine brighter.
Kate! You’re going to give me a big head. Thanks for making my day…especially since just this week I was feeling kind of meh about my writing lately!