Peter Caine quickly shut the door behind him. After eighteen grueling hours, he was finally safe in his own home. He slipped into the kitchen, pulled a beer from the refrigerator, then wandered into the living room, where he sank gratefully into his sofa. The remote control was, for once, in both plain sight and easy reach. Snapping on the TV, he was not surprised to find that there was nothing on worth watching. He'd flipped channels aimlessly, finding landing on 'Animal Planet'. He shook his head in disbelief as the Crocodile Hunter once again took innocent TV tourists on a quick and dirty tour of the land down under. 'Emergency Vet' followed shortly afterwards, with the first patient being, of all things, a Koi.
"Damn! The fish." He struggled to his feet and made his way to the cupboard underneath his stereo. Groping around in the darkness of the cabinet, he finally found the little canister of fish food. The name on the label, 'freeze dried bloodworms', still gave him the creeps. Somehow, he hadn't wanted this particular fish food in his kitchen cabinets. "Why on earth did I volunteer to fish-sit for Blake? At least I don't have to worry about changing the water." The little betta definitely had an attitude. Peter could almost hear the tiny creature cursing if he was a few minutes late with dinner. He'd never realized that fish had personalities. Maybe most didn't, but Blake's fish, Charley, certainly did. The little creature seemed to take a delight in playing dead, only darting to the top of the small aquarium, when Peter tapped on the side. "OK, Charley, dinner's com...."
He froze in horror at the sight in the bowl. Tiny bubbles covered not only the surface but also descended almost half an inch into the water. "Surely the air stone didn't do that. Where's the fish?" Peter looked through the murky water searching for the little betta. It took a few minutes to spot the burgundy colored fish. He was swimming slowly, close to the surface. As Peter watched, he noticed that tiny fish lips occasionally cleared the surface and obviously gasped for air. He'd heard that betta's had an organ that let them breath in the atmosphere, but he never thought he'd witness it. "What is wrong with the bowl?"
Peter quickly lifted the lid and touched the bubbles, "What the hell?" He rubbed his fingers in disbelief. "Soap? How the heck?" Grabbing the bowl he pulled loose the air stone and rushed into the kitchen. "Hang on, Charley, I'll have you out of there in a few minutes." Visions of what Blake would do if his betta died raced through Peter's head. Not as obviously threatening as Kermit nor as intimidating as Paul, Blake was never-the-less an ex-mercenary. Peter really didn't want to find out what the 'gentle' man was really capable of.
"Oh, great, no net. OK, this serving spoon will have to do." Filling a mason jar with tap water, Peter turned back to the bowl. "I know it's not the right water but it's gotta be better than soap. Damn it, stop dodging the spoon. Got ya! Oops, maybe not. Charley behave!" Shaking his head, Peter suddenly realized that he was talking to a fish. "AH HA!" Successful at last in snaring the little animal, Peter transferred him to the mason jar and proceeded to clean the betta bowl. Twenty minutes later, he returned the fish to its original home. The burgundy fins whirred rapidly in the clean water, but to Peter's relief the creature appeared unharmed. The young man watched the fish swim around the bowl in faster and faster laps. Finally it dawned on the fish-sitter; he'd never fed the animal. Dropping slightly more dehydrated bloodworms than normal into the water as an apology, Peter smiled as the fish darted to the top to feed.
The ringing telephone drew his attention and Peter answered quickly, "Hello? ... Oh, hi Blake. ... You're back already? ... No, Charley's fine, you can get him tomorrow.... You're welcome.... No, he was no trouble at all."
As he hung up, he shot a glance at the betta bowl. The burgundy form lay perfectly still on the bottom. Peter groaned and hesitantly tapped on the glass. Nothing. Frantic now, the young man lowered the spoon into the bowl and touched the side of the fish. Charley shot up to the top of the water in an obvious 'gotcha' gesture. Peter glared at the betta, then dropped onto the couch once more. Too keyed up to sleep, he turned on his only sports channel to catch what remained of the baseball game. To his disgust, the game had been rained out and had been replaced by a pre-taped show on, of all things, fishing.
He shot a quick glance at the obviously amused betta, then said, "Nope, I'm going to bed. There'll be no more fishing here tonight."
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