I think I may have killed my betta fish.
Ok, not literally. Well, not figuratively, either.
I'm a very bad pet mom. I'm barely attentive of Pups, and I often use the excuse that my mom needs someone to take care of more than I do.
Zeus has changed living spaces about as many times as I change outfits in a day. He was first in a glass vase. Next, he was in a large wine/margarita chalice-thing. We all got a kick out of it, but it wasn't much space.
This weekend, I bought an actual fishbowl. Well, terrarium bowl from Target. It's probably meant for plants. (Let's face it, I'd kill those, too. Haven't tried it yet.)
On an impulse very similar to the buy-a-new-fishbowl impulse, I threw in some polished rocks I'd been given years ago.
Only after I put the new bowl back on the table, did I think to Google the what-not's and to do's of fish care.
Life was too calm. I needed to freak out over something.
I'll keep an eye on Zeus. It's a game of sink or swim for now.
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