A stuffed bear arrived for my daughter Issa. One of those with a compartment you can put a fishbowl in. I'll present it to her in full, fish inside.
And so I did. She's very young. She's excited. She names the fish Jake and Jezza, proclaiming that one is male and the other is female. I see it from time to time, day to day. She named the bear "Fuzzy." She cuddles up with her fish, periodically drops it - but wow! they're ok. Doubtful, but the bowl stays intact.
Inevitably, one day one of them isn't moving. I explain it to her. In spite of her protests, I remove Jake. Jezza is alive. Issa cries. She clings to Jezza and Fuzzy. She talks to Jezza. In two and a half hours, Jezza is dead too. Issa cries more. Now the Fishbowl in Fuzzy is empty. Issa sits across the room from him. He stares at her, motionless. He is a container of death. She never wants to see him again. But I've placed him there, across from her, and offered that they make amends. They never do. Moths eat at his fur, and empty water left to stagnate takes on a yellow tinge inside of him.