In case you haven't been following my ramblings, I found a single baby cichlid while cleaning one day and preemptively named them Beyoncé. As fish give zero shits about gendered names or my bullshit, I thought I may have jumped the gun with the 'survivor' joke since shortly after, said fish seemed to be gobbled up.
Wrong. So wrong. Little bastard popped up again after a couple of weeks MIA, a little bigger but a shy guy or I'd snap a picture for blog purposes. So not at all like Beyoncé on the social aspect. Any time I try to take a picture, there are at least six curious fish that insist their anus makes the shot. Which makes the rest of them like Beyoncé because that booty sells. I could easily publish a fish butt book.
Today, Bowser, my biggest OB Peacock fish, has been spitting rocks at the glass. Been a while since I've had a builder but apparently him and one of my big blue mbunas has decided to start carving out terrority. Then don't actually fight, they just passive aggressively build gravel castles. Oh, you have one too? Yeah, mine has two entrances and a fake plastic plant that I use like a beaded curtain. Check and mate, bitch.
Fish are fun. I don't know why they warm my heart so much but their drama tickles me. Every living creature seems to take their little worlds so seriously. Cats are like that too. Cats mean business. It doesn't matter if they're flipping head first around the corner of a favorite rug or dutifully killing all your rogue plastic grocery bags. It's serious work. You should thank them, ungrateful human.
So I'll continue to track Beyoncé, maybe even give her/him a makeover worthy of Snapchat because I'm a weird mom. It's what I do and I mean business.
Seriously.
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