Sunday Correspondence: A Letter to Our Pets

Dear Professor Charles Xavier Chewins,
(AKA Charlie Chew, Shmarlie Shmoo, Muttley Furface, Chew Man Foo, My Little Shmoo Shmoo, Charles Chewenstein, etc),

I’m writing to say sorry about the whole moving to Brisbane thing. I hear that it’s been really hard on you, with the terms “depressed” and “a broken puppy” being used to describe you lately. When I heard that you’d even taken to not chasing after your fish toy I have to admit I started to worry.

You’re still my Shmoo Shmoo and the only puppy in my heart, my fluffy friend, and although you look ridiculous after your last haircut (oh, oh so ridiculous) I still think you’re the best dog in the whole world. Even better than K9, and he’s from outer space and knows The Doctor and Billie Piper. That’s kinda a big deal.

So I’m sorry we haven’t come back to visit you in a while, but I’m afraid our visits will probably only become less frequent. I’m sorry, and I miss you too! So much, my Shmoo.

Anyway, I’ll see you on Thursday night.

Love you lots,

Ell-Leigh



Dear Godwin,

You nearly died this morning. I actually thought you were dead for a full five minutes, which was a bit awkward because I was just about to write this letter and I wasn’t sure what I would say to a dead fish. It was pretty intense you know, you were just hanging there, suspended at the top of the water all floaty and dead-like.

As much as I’d like to believe that your time tracking skills set loses out with your fish brain tendencies, and that this morning was a belated April Fools joke, I don’t think that’s the truth. You’re getting old, Godwin, and it’s showing. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but I’m trying to keep in mind that it’s just natural progression. You’ve had a really good life, Godwin.

I remember when I first bought you home; you were so tiny and excited. A whole tank all to yourself! You used to love diving under the bubble jet and swimming endless loops around your new pad. It was delightful to watch, you seemed so content with so little.

You’ve been good company over the past eight months. I know people laugh… “A fish!” they say, “What can a fish do for you?!” But I know better. You’ve always been there to greet me in the morning, scrambling in that funny way you have at the top of the water for your breakfast. And you’ve always been there when I arrive home tired from work. You cheer me on with the frantic flapping of the fins that look just too small for your body and the wiggling of the tail that seems just too large. You’ve watched me while I’ve cooked dinner and not judged me when I’ve then taken it to the couch to eat in front of the tv. You’ve patiently waited each night for me to turn off your bubbles and light so you can go to bed and you’ve never once whinged that you’re sleepy, even if I’ve forgotten them and left them on all night. Godwin, you’ve been the perfect pet.

You’re pretty old, for a goldfish, I guess, though apparently you could have lived for twenty years, so what do I know? You’re pretty, very pretty, with your long white tail and orange and black spots. You’d drive the ladies wild in the wild, I’m sure.

Godwin, you’ve seemed so tired lately, hanging around on the rocks and staying out of the bubbles and I don’t know how many days your little body has left in it. I want you to know that it’s ok to go, Godwin, I’ll be ok. Sure, I might add a bit of saline to your tank water, but be happy in thinking that you’ll be remembered fondly.

Goodbye, Godwin.

Lauren


Ps. If you really aren’t dying, and you’ve just taken up extreme floating as a side-hobby, please let me know so I can stop gathering the housemates for impromptu mourning sessions. Cheers.