Wednesday, September 30, 2009

There is a line between pets and robot slaves. This is why I will not buy a robot pet, or even plastic plants.

Yesterday both my fridge and my fish died.

I loved that little yellow Betta with orange fins and blue highlights. He ate from my hand and watched me whenever I was in the kitchen. My little buddy.

Junior never gave him a name, but I promised him that I would never neglect him like his three predecessors (the fish, not Junior, of course), and that I would always change his water before the tank got really green even though he can breathe air if he wants and evolved to live in dirty puddles in Thailand.

I meant that, but I never promised my stupid fridge ANYTHING because it wasn't a prisoner, it was an EMPLOYEE who had ONE JOB to do and never stopped complaining about it!

The whining never stopped, and I ended up just smacking it as I passed by to make it quiet down. Shut Up, you ungrateful appliance!!

I didn't notice that it was getting less cool in there -- no one did, we just cranked the cold up further over the last week. Not because we are stupid people, ignoring simple mechanical warning signs (although we are, too). Because it's simple machinery. It doesn't even know how cold it is inside, much less how cold it is supposed to be, or how to stop freezing our pickles. It is a dumb as an icebox.

Finally sometime during the other night, it's heart gave out and it died, still standing, and its insides began to decompose. The light still lit, and the fan still ran, but it was animated only by evil. It made our stuff into zombie food by adding just enough gentle warmth straight from Hell.

The fish probably died from the smell. It did have a horrified look on it's face.

Update: The heater inside the fridge had died, and the damn thing choked on it's own frost, trying in vain to circulate the cold over our food. The big lug never gave up; it must have been so painful, like pulmonary edema, I guess, just not Leprosy or Amyloidosis. I am so glad it was fixable and did not actually die.

It is making that noise again already, though. Apparently that wasn't a symptom. I smack it regularly now, but it's more like a violent pat on the back, very friendly, instead of the slap to the facial area of the freezer door it is used to.

And the new betta is green! It's quite pretty, and a bit smaller. Younger, and maybe more forgiving. The wife has named it "Chesterton". That's a good sign.

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