Amidst all the office drama and the moves stood my little fish tank. Back in March, when I learned I would be moving come September, I saw no point in replenishing the fish that died. (Deaths that occur as "part of the hobby," I might add.) The reason is that saltwater fish are exceptionally sensitive and get stressed out easily, which can often lead to their demise. Moves are hard on humans, let alone poor little saltwater creatures. I was told to expect a 10% livestock loss with a move. Which meant no more investing in new livestock.
The move, which took place in late August, went surprisingly well. I didn't lose any livestock and the water parameters didn't go all crazy on me, as I was told might happen. My little clownfish was a bit stressed initially, but within a week started all of his usual behaviors.
I was also curious to see how the kitties would react to it; at the very least it would be a new piece of furniture and a change to their environment and at worst they would try to get the tank's inhabitants. They were understandably curious about the whole thing for a few hours, but didn't really care much about it. I expected Elizabeth, who is the more skilled bug-hunter of the two, to be mesmerized. But she doesn't seem to notice it except as another sharp corner she can rub her chin on. Daniel says she's exceptionally stupid and therefore wouldn't be attracted by something so complex. Athalia doesn't pay that much attention to it, either, though. Occasionally, I'll look over at her and she'll be intently watching Nemo. (Yes, I named the clownfish Nemo.) But he only holds her attention for a few seconds before she moves on to something else.
About a week after moving the tank, I decided to get Nemo his own apartment -- an anemone! Part of the allure of clownfish, aside from their fun personalities, is the symbiotic relationship they form with certain species of anemone. Nemo belongs to a species that is a little more aggressive than his cartoon namesake. During my research for Nemo's apartment, which I had been doing leisurely for a few months, I learned that I should get one of a fairly substantial size. My Nemo will pounce all over it and potentially squish a smaller anemone to death.
This is not a picture of Nemo or his apartment; my camera skills are not good enough to capture him without a blur.
I kept this tidbit in mind when I chose the anemone. Sure enough, within five minutes of me putting the anemone in the tank (after appropriate acclimation, of course), Nemo was all over it like white on rice. Really. He would get his butt in there and rub it as fast as he could almost constantly for three days. Not surprisingly, his new apartment started looking a little beat up. The tentacles were shortening and the overall size of the anemone shrunk. But he kept it up. "You're killing your new home!" I would yell at him, as if he could hear and understand me.
I had given up the anemone as lost, but left it in there because I didn't want to be the one to deal the final blow. But it turned the corner. It got taller. The base started to look firmer.
One night, I had a nightmare that my brother and I were moving the fish tank. We picked up the tank, full of water and rocks and all (which is impossible in reality) and all that weight broke the tank's bottom and the water, sand, and inhabitants spilled out all over the floor. I was running around frantically looking for buckets, extra seawater, and a net. I was unsuccessful and ended up watching my little piece of ocean suffocate on the floor.
When I got up the next morning, I ran over to the fish tank, just to reassure myself that everyone was ok. The lights in the aquarium are on a timer and I have it set to turn on around noon and off around 10pm. That way we could enjoy the tank as we relaxed in the evenings. So as I checked for my friends, it was pretty dark in there. Shrimp, check. (His name is Jaques, by the way. Yeah, I know.) Nemo, check. But Nemo's apartment? GONE. That momentarily got me even more upset; upset at the loss of yet another life in the tank and that my dreams might actually be prophetic. Which would suck because I have some pretty horrific nightmares.
But the anemone wasn't gone. He just moved. Yeah. Moved. Away from Nemo into a crack between two rocks about six inches away from where he was. He actually recovered enough to expend the energy to move away from his abusive tennant. It was then that I would realize he'd be fine. I was so relieved not to contribute to another mortality!
