The House That Roxy Built

September 19, 2008


Roxy is a betta, a siamese fighting fish. He's also a boy (I couldn't remember this at first, so E, in exasperation, taped a sign to the table the fish bowl sat on that read "He is a boy!")

Roxy was a sort-of gift. ("Mom," E rushed in, breathless on my birthday, "this is for both of us, but really me!") Roxy lived in the small fish bowl he came home in for about two weeks. But I found looking at him in a living space the size of a ridiculously small studio apartment to be a bit depressing. So we went to the pet shop and got a proper tank, albeit one that is still nyc apartment size (it is an adorable 8" clear plastic cube, a watery wonderland, complete with an Easter Island statue and two really real-looking fake plants).


Life for Roxy changed overnight. In his wee bowl, he moved so little he could have been mistaken for a plastic fish. Once in his new home, he became positively giddy, flipping and swimming all the day long (at times I could almost hear him whistling). Man, life was sweet.


So sweet that E wanted to add to the happiness.

A couple of weeks later, he came home with two neon-sized "glow" fish, Alex and Matt (of course, both boys). Roxy seemed stunned by the sudden introduction of two rommmates, but he proved to be an incredibly gracious host, allowing these two spastic creatures to basically run the joint. At dinner time, we'd first drop in a few pellets of Roxy food (only 3 a day--no more! the girl at the pet shop had said) and then we'd drop in a few tropical fish flakes for the other guys. We'd watch Roxy gobble up his dinner, then we'd watch him chew up the flakes and spit them out, like a patient big brother cutting up his little siblings' food.

He really seemed to love those two fish.

We just didn't know how much he loved them.


A week ago today, we were having breakfast at the dining room table and E peered into the tank (yup: we eat with the fish). "Where's Alex?" he asked. "He's not in his happy corner." No. He wasn't. I looked around and there, lying on the purple stone floor of the aquatic castle was the headless/tailess body of Alex, which looked like the used-up tip of a yellow highlighter. Clearly, Alex had not died of natural causes.

"It was Roxy!" E exclaimed! He's a Siamese Fighting Fish! It's his nature!"

Gulp. Who else would have bitten off the head of one of the "little brothers?"

I took swift action. I scooped Roxy out of the tank and put him back into his tiny fishbowl--he was now in a serious time-out. When E was distracted with something else, I retrieved Alex's remains from the scene of the crime, wrapped the yellow smudge in a tissue, said a quick "peace be with you" and tossed him out.

"Mom. We have to get a new fish. An angel fish--so he can watch over Alex."

This was one of those moments that makes the "YOU ARE BEYOND DARLING!" meter hit the roof.

Here is the part of this story that is very difficult to share: while I was cleaning the tank, I happened to read the directions on the Betta pellets, the food the pet store clerk had told me to meter out in doses of 3 pellets a day. The package recommended 3 pellets 3 times a day. Shit! I had been starving Roxy! I had forced him to rely on his Darwinian instincts just to survive.

I sat E down and explained this to him. He wasn't buying it. But he was up for buying new fish.

But not an angel fish. Instead, E came home with a brace of bug-eyed goldfish: one black, the other orange and white. Two more boys. AJ and Ben.

Roxy watched from his sorry little bowl while AJ and Ben took over his palatial digs. These two slobs ate like they had just escaped alcatraz and started pooping everywhere. I instantly hated them. Matt, the remaining "glow" fish, seemed unfazed. Roxy once again turned to stone.

I wasn't happy about this. "E. Let's put Roxy back into his house. I promise I will feed him so much that he'll never so much as glance at the other fish."

"No, mom! It is in his nature! He will eat them!" E was adamant

But I just couldn't take it.

So yesterday, I made an executive decision. Roxy's time out was over. I wouldn't care if he ate the party-crashers. It was Roxy's tank and he had been punished enough.

So now there are four. One beautiful blue betta, two ratty goldfish, and one oblivious "glow" fish. Maybe we're just one food pellet away from another "harsh but true" episode of a nature show taking place in our small fish tank.

But I don't care.

I'm willing to take our chances.