When Natalie came home from school she overheard her mother say to her little brother, “You’re not to do that again. It was very naughty.”
“But the cat was hungry.”
“I told you not to feed the cat between meals. It will get fat. So feed the cat only in the mornings and in the evenings. I’ve enough to do without having to run around covering up for your naughtiness.”
Later Natalie asked her mother what was wrong with feeding the cat, and her mother said that it was wrong to overfeed pets. “You should know that because of your goldfish. You can feed them too much and they overeat and die.”
For the rest of the day Natalie noticed that her little brother was pouting. He never liked being told off, and Natalie made it worse by reinforcing what their mother had said, and told him that “he shouldn’t overfeed his cat. You are a very naughty boy” – which made her little brother pout even more.
Later, when Natalie went to feed her goldfish it almost looked the same but she was pretty sure it was a different fish.
Weave a Web 
I wonder if it was the big teeth or the fact that it bit the tip of her finger off that gave her a clue?
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It was the clothes that were the giveaway. The new fish had a different outfit – to say nothing of the Colorado accent.
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lol! And people from Colorado say that they have no accent.
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Maybe it was just the same fish, but fatter…
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Maybe it has been chewing on your rabbit!
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Naw, that rabbit’s still chewing on the chard.
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I, like yourself, have developed a slight dislike for those bunnies!
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She noticed her fish looked different yet never noticed her brother was completely new. Incredible.
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That’s because the little brother was an identical twin who had been hidden away all this time (sort of like Prince William and Prince Harry’s sister).
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Clever. I like it.
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Something fishy going on here.
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I knew you’d take the bait.
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It was pretty good bait.
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Worms.
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Better than leaches.
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What a fishy business that was! And I thought cat was at the root of the story!
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Don’t underestimate the intelligence of fish.
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Bruce, how goes the battle with microbes in NZ? I have taken the precaution of enclosing my property in a plastic bubble (no longer available at Amazon, as the distributor is currently serving time in a Mexican prison for fraud and personal hygiene related issues). No one goes out–nothing comes in. Consequently, I sleep well at night. I don’t notice my PTSD for hours on end.
I saw your message a few months ago but was unable to respond due to government regulations. One can never be too careful when it comes to a pandemic.
My cat, aply named Wuhan, is getting fatter by the day. The pandemic is just an excuse.
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Delighted to hear from you Prospero – although I was hoping somewhere someone would have succumbed to the deadly virus as a conversation piece – once of course after we are again permitted to have a conversation. I never quite realized how much I depended on people’s lips to understand what they’re saying until they covered them up. In reality, the lockdown didn’t affect me in the slightest as I rent a house on a thousand acre farm and no one ever knocks at the door except neighbours from both distant sides who come to deliver eggs and meat and honey. I gave them vegetables. So it all seemed a big nothing – except I’m a little fearful of what will occur in the antipodean winter.
Wuhan is an excellent name for a cat, although I wonder if it might at times be confused for a bat.
I seem to be well. My ever so slightly conservative leanings is starting to be the cause of outcry when watching the television, so I have resorted instead to playing Scarlatti on the piano. It is far more reassuring.
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I once trained Wuhan to play a Scarlatti etude; the result was chaotic: it sounded more like Legeti to my untrained ears.
A collective madness has descended upon us. Funny, I used to go to the grocery store without putting on a hazmat suit.
It’s nice to converse with you again, Bruce. Must run though, having bat soup for dinner and that takes some preparation.
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Yes – I must run too. A neighbour dropped off two (dead) swans (it’s the hunting season) and I shall spend ALL DAY trying to pluck them. Enjoy your bat soup. I was rather pleased that I didn’t have to look up the Legeti reference in your comment. Must run…
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Great surprise at the end.
I didn’t know people hunted swans for food until I read that the Pilgrims ate them.
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The swans in New Zealand are black – so not as distinguished and graceful as the white ones – and during the hunting season of about 1 month – the limit is five a day. They’re quite a common bird.
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