Today is a solemn day, a day in which no fish flakes will be sprinkled.
Yang, beloved oranda, has died.
Yang, friend to Ying, James Earl, Goldie Hawn, Comet, Lydia O Lydia and Sir George Martin (the Fifth Goldfish), began dying with the turning on of the fishtank light on Monday, July 5th, and had pretty much finished with it by the time he was flushed later that evening to the musical strains of “We’ve Only Just Begun”.
He was six years old.
Known for his gentle humor and his big orange head, Yang lived a sheltered life, never leaving the tank in which he took up residence with Ying after his move from PetSmart in 2004. The couple had their differences, however; and after a much-publicized battle with alcoholism three years ago and a weekend in detox after picking a fight with a large-ish moss-covered rock, Ying left Yang for James Earl, a showy black oranda with a way with the wimmins.
A memorial was held Tuesday morning: tales were told of Yang’s good nature and both sides of his favorite album – Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung” – were played, after which there was a church basement potluck, the keg was tapped, and a bottle of Jameson produced.
Eddie the Plecostomus, just before bursting into tears, proclaimed it the best wake he’d ever been to and that he could only hope for as nice a send-off.
Neither Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) or Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers) could be reached for comment, although a note left on the fridge in Liza’s spiky hand read:
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.
Swim swiftly, swim happily, Yang. You will be missed.
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