The Goldfish Funeral

Margaret stood before the mirror, adjusting her black velvet hat. It was the same one she'd worn to David's funeral three years ago, though now the brim had begun to fray at the edges. She smoothed the fabric with trembling fingers, wondering if there was an appropriate mourning period for a goldfish.

Bubbles had lasted seven years—longer than her marriage, longer than most of her friendships in this city. Now the fish floated motionless in its bowl, its orange scales catching the afternoon light like tiny metallic coins.

"It's just a fish," her friend Elena had said over coffee yesterday, popping a vitamin D supplement with practiced efficiency. "You're being dramatic."

But Elena hadn't been there when Margaret moved into this apartment alone at forty-seven, hadn't watched her through pandemic isolation, hadn't understood how Bubbles became the silent witness to every phone call, every breakup, every night Margaret fell asleep questioning the trajectory of her life.

A neighborhood cat appeared at the window then—a ragged orange tom with one ear that permanently folded. He pressed his face against the glass, golden eyes fixed on the motionless fish. Margaret had always shooed him away before. Today, she watched him watch Bubbles.

She'd bought the vitamins on the same errand as the fish food—trying to be the kind of person who remembered to take care of herself. The bottle sat unopened on her counter, expiration date already approaching. Some things you put off. Some things you didn't get around to until it was too late.

Margaret carried the fishbowl to the bathroom. The cat trailed her to the door. She flushed Bubbles without ceremony, watching the orange spiral disappear into the city's wastewater system.

Back at the window, the orange cat still waited. Margaret opened it, letting in the cool autumn air. The cat hesitated, then leaped onto the sill, surveying the empty bowl.

"Well," she said to the room, to the absence, to the years represented by a small glass circle. "That's done with."

She pulled the hat from her head and set it on the counter. The cat watched her with something like understanding, or perhaps just patience. Margaret opened the vitamin bottle and swallowed one with tap water, standing alone in her apartment, finally ready to begin whatever came next.