Sunday at home
Today was one of those delightfully ordinary days that somehow feels dramatic when observed from behind watery-glass. Brian, goldfish extraordinaire, amateur philosopher, and professional bubble-spewer, remained at home while his human, Mark, performed his regular rituals of domestic heroism.
The morning began with Mark attacking the laundry. He moved like a neatness-obsessed demon, sorting socks with the solemnity of a priest arranging relics. Brian applauded (in his head) as Mark wrestled the towels into the machine. The rumble of the washer made the water in Brian's tank do a slow-motion wave.
Next came dusting, which Mark executed with surgical precision. Occasionally Mark glanced at Brian, the way one checks a painting to be sure it still exists. “Looking good, Brian”.
The highlight: Mark decided to bake bread, claiming he was “trying a new recipe”, which really means: will this be edible? Mark pounded and folded it with the ferocity of someone attempting to prove his culinary worth to the loaf gods. Through his tank, Brian watched dough rise like a slow, triumphant moon.
Finally, when the oven beeped, Brian pressed against the walls of the tank, peering at the creation. If a goldfish could salivate, he would have. Mark offered Brian a crumb on principle.
Next in the household chores was Brian's tank; freshening the pebbles, a partial water change, and a repositioning of the castle.
As the afternoon wound down, Brian's mind drifted to the great outdoors. He dreamt of a pond; vast, unfiltered, inhabited by other fish, and algae.
Mark’s busy hands and warm bread smells make a fine backdrop for Brian plotting his next grand adventure. It will be bold, possibly soggy, and entirely worth the telling.