“I have a goldfish memory,” she commented.
“A goldfish goes around and around in a bowl and each time thinks it’s a new time.
“But they don’t know that.”
“I didn’t think that goldfish think…”
“It’s actually very cruel.
“Goldfish in a bowl. They should be in a tank.”
“Then they can swim up and down and in and out of castles and all sorts of things.”
“True. Just swimming around and around in circles is cruel.”
“I had a tank filled with all sorts of fish – I named them all… One was flash because he darted all over the place very fast… And another was berry because he was very red…”
I looked at her.
“And they can get sick and if one gets sick they all get sick and you have to give them antibiotics…”
“I can see you trying to get fish in a tank to take their antibiotic pills.”
Her turn to give me a look.
“It’s powder or liquid… They eat it…”
“Oh… How do you know they eat it?”
“They eat it,” she repeated disdainfully.
“What if one gets more than the other?”
I don’t think I’ll ever look at a goldfish in a bowl the same way again.