The albino catfish lies on its side on blue gravel as its gills move slowly. I tap the glass. Kock kock. Its left maxillary barbel twitches reflexively and I imagine those eyes are searching me with pink despair. It seems drowned in a paralysis of the being, perhaps, in a sufferance of the throes of death? O fishy fish! Many rests with that final gasping gill-flutter. May golden backed tetras entomb thee in that watery heaven grave guarded by marauding pterophyllum scalare who harrumph at the jovial welcome tumble dance of green-striped brachydanios and millionfish flagrantly colored. Kock kock.