We are the perpetrators of fishy genocide.

Fluffy Jr. (our replacement betta) died in the same disgustingly fluffy manner as his predecessor. Again, we scoop him out of the tank with Heather's incense burner because we didn't buy a fucking net last time we went down to Petco. No more bettas. Ever. This one, we flushed.

Heather's fish is being bullied by my new fish. (Why do I have the evil fish?) We're expecting it to die soon.

God forbid we ever get a dog. Or have children.