She wanted a monkey so we did what any sane parents would do, we bought a goldfish.

I explained to my daughter that the two had a lot of similarities, and thankfully she didn’t ask for elaboration.

I thought fish would be easy, but there were moments in the next three months when I longed for a capuchin.

We started off with one goldfish and a small, expensive tank with an air hose, heater, and fake box of treasure.

My friend, who had been drowning goldfish for years, was incredulous. You only need a small bowl, she said. Hater!

Fishy got along just fine, but we decided Fishy was lonely. And so Fishy Two moved in.

Fishy and Fishy Two seemed all right with one another but my husband was convinced the happy couple was cramped.

My husband came back from his next trip to the pet store with a gigantic fish tank, various nets and thingies and six more fish. They weren’t goldfish but two completely different species. I don’t know what they were but my guess is they originated in the River Styx. One died immediately. Flush!

We put them all together to make one big happy dysfunctional family. (Disclaimer: don’t do this!) Fishy Three immediately began eating my goldfish. Flush! Flush!

The surprising thing about owning fish is that they actually require work. The fish poo collects on the bottom, despite the expensive equipment, and the tank sides turn green. Usually we waited until we couldn’t see the fish anymore before we bothered to clean.

The nets were handy. Every couple of days we used them to fish out Fishy Three’s latest victims. We never peered into the tank without muttering: “Who is dead today?”

Fishy Three was actually the second last to die. He developed some kind of fungus that required us to put a chemical in the water in a halfhearted attempt to save the little beast.

Then came the day when the fish were all gone. FLUSH!

And so began our happiest times as fish owners. Being slackers, we did not immediately dismantle everything. It was clean when Fishy Three and Four went belly up. The sound of a tank bubbling is soothing, and it was nice to look in and admire the fake pirate’s treasure without being overcome with guilt. Ah, fishless bliss.