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It was a sunny, early summer day when you first came into my life. I wasn't planning on getting any fish. After five painful blows in a two month period, I was sure that I would never again succeed at keeping goldfish alive. So I swore off goldfish, swore off fish in general... but left the tank up and cycling, just in case. And of course, just in case happened that fateful day. You were so perky and cute, a little calico in a tank of orange. Your broad stripe was eye catching and there's just something about a matte white, with the blue beneath, that just holds me sway. So naturally I brought you home. I worried about you from the start. Would you be okay in the bowl for an hour until I could go home? Would you even survive the trip? Were you going to last a few days, act normal, raise my hopes-- only to dash them with a sudden death? And your confirmation was weird, with an abnormally shaped abdomen. You were so mad when I separated you from Monet for observation that first week. But once reunited, you were forever friends. I am glad you were still together at your passing. You were shuffled from tank to tank, even surviving winter trips to school, living in the greenhouse for more than a week without food or a waterchange during our school break. Always healthy, always beautiful. You were the one, the looker, the goldfish people pointed to and loved. Of course you'd be the next to fall prey to the victim of life's great enemy, one that no one can escape. It started gradually, with some bottomsitting, and I failed to act. I assumed you were pouting at the lowered quantity of food, or the less than ideal water change schedule, with some missed due to increased responsibilities at work, school, with volunteering and internships. I thought maybe your tail, with it's partial fusing, was bothering you, weighing you down, that you were just being lazy. Until I woke up this morning and you were upside down. Immediately you were moved to a clean 5g bucket with Safe and a bubbler, and I promised to start a DnD as soon as I returned home from school. But I knew you wouldn't be breathing when I returned. So now you rest, forever more still in your earthen home beneath our lilac tree, and your loss of life will act as a strength to its roots in the coming hard winter months. In your death, you shall give the tree life. You will be missed.