Continued Fish Trauma... or the Third Bad Thing

I woke up this morning to a shout of horror from Shawn. I bolted upright, having been in that yeah-I-know-it-s-time-to-get-up-but-gimme-five-more-mintues semi-conscious state, and ran over to where she stood next to the five gallon tetra tank. She was staring at something on the floor and saying, "Oh, Lyda," in a rather pitying voice.

A tetra lie dead on the floor.

Apparently, sometime in the middle of the night, little tetra decided s/he could no longer live in that tank, and leaped to her/his