When the zombies noisily and rudely knock down our doors and eat all the people, ridding the world of healthy flesh and hope, I would put my useless, irrelevant, pointless money on one living being surviving.
Because HE JUST WON’T DIE. He is a scaly superhero, trapped in a bowl. When the undead come I expect he will get really, REALLY angry, and turn green and sprout uber muscly fins, a bad brittle hairstyle, wielding algae covered fish weed like a death whip and become a zombie slayer.
Reasons why I think the last thing alive on earth will be Colin;
1) Sometimes I forget to feed him. HE DOESN’T DIE.
2) He is SEVEN YEARS OLD. Why isn’t he dead yet? HE DOESN’T DIE.
3) He just has one lower fin. I only noticed this last year. The other must have just, you know, been deemed useless and fallen off. God knows when. Maybe he caught it on a decorative plastic rock? Maybe he gnawed it off through boredom? Who knows? Hamsters have a heart attack and die should you so much as cuddle them, but Colin surviving after losing a limb? HE DOESN’T DIE.
4) His life is utter shit. He lives in a 15 inch wide glass bowl. With some weed in it. And a free loading, squatter snail. I hope that theory about 10 second memory is true because if not for THE LOVE OF GOD he must be insane by now. Sometimes he rams his face repeatedly in to the side of the bowl. HE DOESN’T DIE.
5) My mother in law is convinced he has cancer, because he has a lump on his back (he is a Japanese fancy goldfish, this is his body shape. Not cancer. Body shape.).
“Why isn’t he dead if he has this terrible cancer he has had all his life?” she asks me at every visit.
Maybe she is right. Maybe it is cancer. Who knows? What I do know is HE DOESN’T DIE.
6) My mother in law is also convinced Colin is depressed.
“He just stares at the corner of the bowl, Hannah. Even though, there isn’t a corner in a bowl”.
I know when it’s been 6 weeks and the fish filter needs changing because Colin floats very very still in one spot, staring at the corner of the bowl (even though there isn’t a corner in a bowl). He will stare at this one spot ALL THE TIME until I go
“Oh! Yeah. Shit. Probably needs a new filter”
and stir my stumps and buy a new filter.
a) he is communicating with me in underwater Makaton and telling me that he can’t breathe through the Victorian-esque crappy smog. Perhaps he is trying to tell me to HURRY UP and change his filter. Or perhaps he is trying to tell me he has had enough and wants to self destruct but like the Terminator or a devout Catholic can’t kill himself, so please, just allow him to fester in his filthy pit of faeces and force him to deactivate.
I wouldn’t know…I CAN’T SPEAK FISH.
b) the toxic fumes have made him go temporarily (and fixably) insane and all he can think to do… is float…and eyeball the wall.
c) he is drunk on the toxic fumes and is trying to hit on the music speaker stood next to his bowl.
“Hey! Foxy! You are singing me a fiiiiiinnne tune there baby! Check me out! I’m floating!”.
Either or. Who knows?
But still, HE DOESN’T DIE.
Of course, we will all be sad when Colin does finally die. I will be sad because I don’t like to see anything die, and although it sounds like I am trying to kill him (fully aware that’s how it may look, like I am making him partake in some sort of sick Gladiator style challenge), I promise that I’m not. When he does finally die, should I still be alive myself to see it (doubtful, him being indestructible), I will be a bit
“Oh. Wow. It happened. Well, that’s WEIRD“.
But no one will be sadder than Ed. Ed who cries when we go away for more than 2 days because he “misses Colin”. And who, when we were on holiday this year, made my mum, who was house sitting for us, photograph Colin and send us that photo so Ed could go to sleep happy. Good old mum, she could have just googled “a fish” and sent that, but no, she circled the bowl for ages and photographed Colin.
Even the fucking flash on the camera didn’t give him a shocking heart attack.
COLIN DOESN’T DIE.