From the deep sea of clouds to the island of the moon

I figured out one day that aquariums are basically just very damp doll houses with little living residents – and ever since then, I've been unable to resist them. I can't keep a big one, and I'm not entirely sure I'd want the responsibility of it; but we do have a small glass tank that I keep groomed like the White House lawn.

I have a shelf in one of my kitchen cabinets that hosts all the necessary rocks, plants, resin statues, and other supplies … and every time I clean the tank, I play interior decorator with these furnishings. I find it soothing and entertaining, and I'd like to think that my little living residents appreciate the attention to detail. Perhaps I'm deluding myself, but ever since my first betta – Howard, may he rest in peace – I feel like home isn't quite home without such a set-up. It's like it rounds out the feng shui of the place, or something.

So yesterday evening, the husband and I jaunted off to the pet store and picked up a new fish. His name, which sprang into my head as I held him in my lap on the way home, is "Ziggy" … short for "Ziggy the Space Goblin."

What can I say? He's a little bit Bowie, and a little bit death rock. I mean, just look at that hairdo. Findo. Whatever. I've never seen a betta in old Hollywood grayscale before, and those long, pearly fins with blue-black roots make him look like he was inspired by Cruella DeVille.

And he is unfurled like that all the freaking time.

This may sound odd, but he reminds me of the 80s, when I had big hair. (We all did. It was the 80s.) One day in 9th grade, me and my friend Nikki spent half an hour in the school bathroom making our hair majestically huge with the help of a little Rave #4 … only to step outside for P.E. and find that the wind had kicked up. All through class, we simultaneously swung our heads back and forth to keep the wind angled just so in order to preserve our perfectly scaffolded geometric coifs. Yes, we looked like idiots. Awesome, awesome idiots.

But that over-the-top, insistent fluffiness had its charms, and it certainly is charming on a fish.

Honestly, I think Ziggy's a bit of a mutant; his pectoral fins are actually curly, but not the kind of curly that seems very helpful. They're literally fixed in ringlets. He has to keep them plastered up to his belly if he wants to move around quickly, otherwise they give him too much drag and his swimming looks gimpy – as I learned when he flared at the camera lens this morning, poor little dude.

But don't feel too sorry for him. He's no longer squatting in a plastic pint cup – oh no. He's got 2-1/2 gallons of space*, all-new beach-white gravel, real plants, and a holey rock fit for a king. He also has a heater and a glass lid, and a spot well out of reach of the resident feline – who shows no interest in him whatsoever … unless we go over there and talk to him.

Then she busts out all JEALOUS KITTY and comes storming in from wherever she's been napping, howling like she's being whacked with a hammer, because HOW DARE WE talk fondly to SOMETHING OTHER THAN HER? Really. The nerve of us. If we're going to treat her so poorly, then she'll be forced to go munch sullenly upon some ludicrously expensive kibble**, then sulk upon her plush velvet blankie, surrounded by more toys than most toddlers see at daycare.

That'll teach us.

* I'd like to upgrade to five gallons, but we don't really have the room. Someday, when we have a house, I will probably go nuts and spend a small fortune to have and keep my fish like tiny Roman despots.

** It's a "calorie managed" "indoor formula" for "mature cats." Which is to say, "diet food" for "old fatties."

[Crossposted from my website. If you'd like to comment, you can do so either here or there.]