poor charlie

Just because my boy goes into his room at night, please do not assume that he has gone to sleep.

He is busy in there. Usually, the morning brings an annoying mess of clutter to wade through on my way to open the curtains and force in the day, but just as often he is involved in creative pursuits like drawing or building with legos or creating tiny habitats for inanimate objects.

Case in point:

It's confusing, I know.

The floor is so bright, it distracts you from the details. Remind me to never carpet my home in dayglo puce with starburst effects.

This is Charlie's house. Charlie is a goldfish.


Let's take a closer look:




not that kind of goldfish, silly. Charlie's house is not in the sea. He's a goldfish of the Peperidge Farm species, genus whole grain cheddar.

The above photo shows Charlie lounging on his custom made sectional sofa. Charlie likes his sofa, it makes him very happy.

See?

Charlie likes to sit on his happy sofa and watch his big screen tv.

Look, it's Sponge Bob and Patrick!

When Charlie wants to hit the town, he can rock his jeep

Or his hog


At the end of a long day, Charlie tucks himself into bed.

Night-night, Charlie!

Charlie was the best pet/roommate/child/husband/friend that anyone could have ever asked for. He never complained, he ate whatever I made for dinner, or just went without dinner.. for days on end... if we forgot that he existed for a while. He seemed too good to be real.

One day, I came home to find a version of this note taped to aproximately every flat surface of my household:

Our hearts were clearly broken. Just look at the cracks!

Charlie was gone. We don't know exactly what happened to him, but we do have a suspect.

We hired security to keep the perp away during Charlie's funeral.

My girl was the officiant. She prepared careful notes and held the ceremony in her room, which is a notably more solemn venue.

It was a somber, emotional event:




Rest in peace, Charlie.