TOLBERT

     Tolbert was not ambitious, living contentedly in a quiet, structured environment. Although unhampered by higher mental functions, the low cunning he possessed was adequate for his survival. Drifting peacefully, he would gaze through the glass at a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors.

Within the glass, he could study the accessories that were deemed necessary for goldfish happiness. There was a thick layer of sanitized gravel supporting green artificial water weeds of shape and form quite unknown to Tolbert. A small air pump fed a block of porous sandstone hidden behind a plastic arch. This arrangement allowed many tiny bubbles to re-circulate in the water and provide a little oxygen. It did nothing to remove chlorine and other contaminants from the poisonous tap water that filled the bowl.

Tolbert was the center of his small universe, comforted by crystalline visions with no meaningful distractions. His only aquatic companion was an old snail, slow and ponderous — a creature whom Tolbert treated with disdain, avoiding and ignoring when possible.

Although life passed peacefully in the bowl, it was periodically disrupted every three weeks or so by cleaning and water changing. These violent junctures forcibly reminded him of the awful plastic bag within which he was imprisoned and transported from the local carnival to the bowl.

He would have lived contentedly existing in obscure mediocrity for many years, had it not been for the unwanted attentions of the cat. The terrible beast, attracted by movement in the bowl, could not resist the temptation to reach for Tolbert. These contests became a daily routine.

When the cat jumped on the counter where the bowl stood, the vigilant goldfish would see a sudden shadow moving across the glass. Tolbert would slide slowly beneath the arch with the bubbles.

Absolute stillness was essential when the cat dipped her paw in the water, trying to scoop Tolbert with sharp needle claws. This disruption at the surface with the rising bubbles and the cat's leg entering the water was sufficiently distracting to prevent a fatal blow. The cat would soon tire of her exercise and jump from the kitchen counter.

     Growing increasingly fearful of the unkind attentions of the evil animal, Tolbert decided to run from the furry aggresssor and find a new home, leaving his bowl to the worthless snail. The only exit was through the surface of the water and into the air. It was possible for him to reach beyond the water, but having done so, what then? An excellent question, one he considered most carefully.

He was able to raise himself above the surface, but only by half his body length, then unable to breathe, had to return beneath the water. With practice, he was able to extend the time his head was above the surface, continuing the laborious exercises until he was comfortable with his ability to live beyond the water.

Next came swimming at speed around the bowl close to the glass with fins laid against his body. He was soon able to generate sufficient velocity with his tail to carry him beyond the surface for several inches. Tolbert knew he was ready. His suicidal leap for freedom began after dark when the house was still. True freedom is earned, never given, and the little golden fish labored hard for his.

With tail whipping the surface and an audible splash sounding, as he cleared the rim of his prison, he sailed away to find a safe new home. For a few fleeting moments, he embraced his precious freedom hanging in the quiet night before striking the counter and falling over the edge onto the cold tiled floor.

Pain consumed his body terror, and confusion overwhelmed him. Unable to breathe, he reacted by violently thrashing his tail. This action inched him across the tile to a rubber mat beneath the sink. There, covered with cat hairs and a few breadcrumbs, exhausted and gasping, he died.

      Andrew was the first to discover the remains. He knelt on the floor, gingerly poking at the body.

     "Allie, Allie" he yelled to his sister.

    "Your fish is jacked up dead, I think."

   Alison, already late for school, hurried into the kitchen.

     "Look, old Turdbutt must have jumped out of his bowl."

     He pointed to the sunken-eyed thing on the mat. Alison shook her head,

     "Perhaps the cat got him, and don't call him Turdbutt, you little jerk. His name is Tolbert."

     Turdbutt was the name Andrew gave the fish, inspired by a small streamer of fishy fecal matter Tolbert would sometimes extrude from his body.

     "Was Tolbert," corrected Andrew.

 "I'll put him down the toilet for you. I don't think the cat got him. If he had, I think he probably would have eaten him."

     Under normal circumstances, Alison would have insisted on a funeral and a decent flowerpot burial. These were not normal circumstances: she was late, her friends were waiting outside to walk to school, mom was shouting, and she had a gym class in the second period.

     "Okay, thanks, and the cat is a she, not a he. See you after school then."

     With a quick grin, she was gone, leaving the midnight tragedy for her brother to resolve. Alison gave no further thought to the sad, lonesome death of her little fish Tolbert.

Andrew held the body carefully by the tail, carried it to the bathroom, and dropped it into the toilet. He stared at the small floating thing that was once a fish and prodded it with Alison's toothbrush to see if it would show any sign of life, perhaps a miraculous biblical recovery? No, dead was dead; Turdbuttt had expired, leaving the stupid old snail for the awful cat.

Andrew pressed the lever to remove Turdbutt permanently. He stared at the fish for the last time, never knowing the poor creature had fulfilled its grand ambition to move from one bowl to another.

     Crashing waters hissed and roared, taking the little fish for a mad, swirling dance. For a moment, just for a flickering instant, Andrew saw the golden tail wave to him before disappearing forever.