Happy Tuesday, folks.
I hope you’re enjoying my Poetic Posts so far. If you’ve missed the previous posts, you can read the context for these (often-bonkers) poems here.
Today’s was inspired by real events!
I never had any pets growing up, but on my 18th birthday, which I celebrated with friends at Zizzi restaurant in Chichester, I was presented with a sandwich bag containing - you've guessed it - a goldfish. Right there and then, at the table. He was called Jupiter (he never told me why), and became my first pet.
Jupiter was the quiet sort, and didn’t do much.
He kept himself to himself, and I did the same.
We largely got on fine.
Until I departed for a trip to Paris with my family, leaving Jupiter behind - though not before I’d ensured he was well-fed (perhaps a bit too well-fed, it turned out). He never expressed any bitterness at the lack of an invitation, though maybe it did offend him. Who knows? He was never one to wear his heart on his fins.
That trip changed everything.
For, sadly, when we returned, Jupiter was even less busy, less communicative, less alive, than usual.
In the years that followed, I regularly thought and felt bad about my mistake in accidentally over-feeding Jupiter before that trip to Paris.
But then I got a cat…
…and forgot all about it.
As always, thanks for reading!
Well who wouldn't prefer a cat like that? Or any cat really. I think cats are - almost universally - better than goldfish.
But I am curious: were you 18 or 8? I thought 18 was an odd age to be given a goldfish, but then your poem said 8, and I think that does make more sense...