Recently, I decided to buy a pet to keep me company. I wanted a dog, but the thought of keeping one locked up in a four and a half tatami room seemed cruel. Cats seemed incompatible with my senile but genki landlady, who confused them with large rats and bounded after them with her special rodent exterminating broom.
So my choice of pet was confined to fish or an iguana. I worried that the landlady might mistake the iguana for me and decide to bash it with her special "you-didn't-seperate-the-garbage-correctly-and-must-pay-the-consequences" broom which might have caused the iguana to react in ways iguanas are prone to respond when attacked by a broom, especially if the landlady grabbed the large rodent broom by mistake. Iguanas are especially sensitive to being mistaken for rodents.
I thought all this could lead to a long series of letters to the editor of the Japan Times on Iguana rights and corporal or capital punishment for incorrectly separated garbage which besides being hopelessly boring, could eventually lead to the resignation of the Fisheries and Hatcheries cabinet minister and possibly the downfall of the entire cabinet, thereby destabilizing financial markets around the world. I decided to buy a fish instead.
Actually, I bought four goldfish and immediately set about teaching them English. While they were never quite able to master the pronunciation, they were at least better students than the Japanese. They never fell asleep during my lessons and weren't afraid to open their mouths without me having to add whiskey to their water.
Last winter, I was preparing to host a party in my miniscule apartment. I realized the first thing I needed to do after removing the life-size rhinoceros statue from the room was to clean the very smelly fish bowl. I searched for a container to hold the fish while I cleaned their tank, but every bowl and pot I owned was dirty on account of having run out of dish detergent the previous month. The only thing available was the rice pot inside my never once used, taken-from-the-gomi rice cooker. I filled the bowl, and dripped the little fishies inside.
I drained the water from the tank and began scrubbing out the tank when the doorbell rang. My guests had arrived. I hid the smelly tank under the sink and ushered everyone into the room. We immediately opened the beer and compai'd and began drinking heavily. Over my protestations, the two office ladies began clearing the kitchen and preparing the food.
Suddenly, one then the other two drunk Japanese were pointing towards the kitchen area and laughing hysterically. The girls were screaming and stamping their feet in a manner I was certain would soon bring the landlady with her no-wild-parties broom. I thought the guys were tormenting the girls again until I saw a goldfish leap from the rice cooker and join the other three wriggling on the floor.
I must admit that I found the scene simultaneously horrifying and hilarious, and while I should have been rescuing my poor fish, I, too, was doubled over in laughter. By the time I had recovered, it was too late. One of my co-workers had thrown the fish back into the rice cooker and lay on the floor, his mouth wide open, awaiting the flying fish. One hit a bull's-eye on his left eye. But now the situation was completely out of my control. Again, the four fish were scooped back up and all three Japanese guys waited with open mouths. The motioned for the girls to join them, but the girls, wise enough not to lay down on the floor with these guys, hid in the corner, one hand around each other, the other hand over their mouths.
Needless to say, the fish were soon history. I am only thankful there are no twenty-four hour pet stores in my neighborhood. I considered replacing them later, but in the end, decided on an iguana instead and damn the consequences.
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