“Harry! Where is Sally?” I am panicked. “I know ten days is a long time, but the time-release feeder still has some food left. Did you eat her? Did you eat Sally?”, I plead, desperate for a response I know I’ll never get.
Where could she be? She jumped to her almost death once before. I came home just in time to put her back in the bowl. I don’t see her or any remains on the floor near the bowl. What happened to her? I knew ten days was too long. I had planned on eight and ended up extending my trip to San Francisco. Not since I transported them from 30th and Madison to 13th and University have I been this worried.
Harry and Sally were the perfect New York City pets. They greeted me each night when I got home. Cleaning their tank satisfied my need to care for something other than myself and just looking at them lowered my blood pressure (or so I read). I had won them at the Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy within a few months of moving to New York.
For the next four days I eye Harry suspiciously each time I walk by the bowl. One afternoon I get home early from a meeting and catch my bi-monthly housekeeper on her way out.
“Hello, Ms. Jennifer.”
“Do you know where Sally went?”
“Who? Do you have a roommate?
“The fish, the smaller one.”
“Oh, she was stuck to the floor last time. I cleaned the floor. I am so sorry. You were in California and I did not want to bother you.”
“I am so relieved. I thought Harry ate her.”
She gives me a puzzled look.
“I’m sorry about your fish.”
“Me too. But I’m relieved Harry isn’t a cannibal.”
Items in the photos include: