Basket.

I have a thing for tropical fish. It's my latent hobby, and I don't indulge it only because I just don't have the time to. Nor is it easy, because aqarium fish are notoriously vulnerable and sometimes there is little one can do to prevent a Permian-style mass extinction in one's fish tank (I assure you mass fish death is not a pleasant sight).

I plan to return to the hobby (and maybe raise terrapins again, which I managed to do successfully) once I have more time, my interest awakened by yesterday's little trip to a fish farm, where I met all my once and future pets - ubiquitous goldfish, dwarf gourami, famously fecund guppies and neon tetra that used to retail for $0.40 apiece (but not anymore, it seems). Surprisingly, the once-common tiger barb was nowhere in sight. I love looking at fish because they literally comes in all shapes, sizes and colours. They are just about the most fascinating life forms ever, and the marine world is far more wondrous than the land.

It made me remember all the many and various adventures I've had with tropical fish, including SMP back in RI, when we did something to do with fish hormones (I honestly never understood what), which involved murdering and slicing up tilapia. We had altogether too much fun for what was supposed to be a sober scientific project, such as when the ice meant for killing the fish melted and we had to do them in by hurling them savagely onto the floor, or when an opened-up specimen abruptly resumed respiration on the worktable. In the end, our report was submitted about two months late. No matter, I didn't understand it anyway.

But I still wonder what happened to our fish. In any case, I do miss mine.