The Killer Catfish
1967
True Story
I don't know if catfish have souls, but if they do I would like to apologize to the catfish gods for one my mother sacrificed on our kitchen countertop back in 1966.
We did not eat this catfish. It was our pet. I suppose that's what makes it all the more horrifying. Although I can't remember the exact date, I do remember the solemnity of the occasion. The feeling was very much "you and me against the fish." The execution had been planned in advance. According to my mother, it was the only thing to do. Nothing could go wrong. A catfish this vile could not simply be flushed down the toilet. It might come back, even bigger. We all agreed that it did seem to be growing at a faster pace than any of the other fish in the aquarium.
It had not been a good week. My parents' marriage was breaking up and now mother had just heard on the evening news that a species of translucent catfish, the very same species currently staring at her from our living room aquarium, was capable of growing to an enormous size and strolling around on dry land. I think the program might have included more information than just those two facts, but those were the two she focused on.
My mother was horrified. And as she sat there in her armchair -- cigarette in one hand, gin and tonic in the other -- she glared at the once benign creature in our tank. And she knew what she had to do.
Life takes a sharp turn sometimes and you have to confront your fears. Things happen that are so shocking, so much a betrayal, that they must be dealt with in the spirit of haste. You wonder why you didn't see it coming.
Mother didn't know whether to blame the fish store employee who sold it to her, or her absentee husband, who certainly would be able to save his family when the catfish from hell suddenly grew too big for its tank and began waddling down the hall devouring their children.
But there was no time for that. A saucepan of ammonia was placed on the kitchen counter. The catfish, about six inches long and awaiting his fate in a small aquarium net, was placed into the ammonia. In shock, the fish flapped violently and found himself once again gulping air on the counter, surrounded by a spreading puddle of ammonia. The stench of it burned into our noses as mother scooped the fish back into the saucepan with a spoon and got the lid on before the catfish could make one last try for freedom.
I remember being shocked at the demise of this fish, how the poor thing went.
But, in an odd way, I think my mother felt somehow reassured.
Their divorce was finalized a year later
True Story
I don't know if catfish have souls, but if they do I would like to apologize to the catfish gods for one my mother sacrificed on our kitchen countertop back in 1966.
We did not eat this catfish. It was our pet. I suppose that's what makes it all the more horrifying. Although I can't remember the exact date, I do remember the solemnity of the occasion. The feeling was very much "you and me against the fish." The execution had been planned in advance. According to my mother, it was the only thing to do. Nothing could go wrong. A catfish this vile could not simply be flushed down the toilet. It might come back, even bigger. We all agreed that it did seem to be growing at a faster pace than any of the other fish in the aquarium.
It had not been a good week. My parents' marriage was breaking up and now mother had just heard on the evening news that a species of translucent catfish, the very same species currently staring at her from our living room aquarium, was capable of growing to an enormous size and strolling around on dry land. I think the program might have included more information than just those two facts, but those were the two she focused on.
My mother was horrified. And as she sat there in her armchair -- cigarette in one hand, gin and tonic in the other -- she glared at the once benign creature in our tank. And she knew what she had to do.
Life takes a sharp turn sometimes and you have to confront your fears. Things happen that are so shocking, so much a betrayal, that they must be dealt with in the spirit of haste. You wonder why you didn't see it coming.
Mother didn't know whether to blame the fish store employee who sold it to her, or her absentee husband, who certainly would be able to save his family when the catfish from hell suddenly grew too big for its tank and began waddling down the hall devouring their children.
But there was no time for that. A saucepan of ammonia was placed on the kitchen counter. The catfish, about six inches long and awaiting his fate in a small aquarium net, was placed into the ammonia. In shock, the fish flapped violently and found himself once again gulping air on the counter, surrounded by a spreading puddle of ammonia. The stench of it burned into our noses as mother scooped the fish back into the saucepan with a spoon and got the lid on before the catfish could make one last try for freedom.
I remember being shocked at the demise of this fish, how the poor thing went.
But, in an odd way, I think my mother felt somehow reassured.
Their divorce was finalized a year later
posted by Jon at 6:15 PM
3 Comments:
This nice little gem is from your Amazon review of Larry Elder's "Stupid Black Men: How to Play the Race Card--and Lose":
"I think any group of people has a subgroup that embarrasses them. I know... Puerto Ricans who loathe Mexicans. It goes on."
Really? REALLY? I don't even need to explain myself (or maybe I do). Mexicans are NOT a "subgroup" (I'm sure you've never challenged or even realized the implication that that word holds) of Puerto Ricans.
It is clear what to address in racial supremacists; the ignorance and nuanced racism that you accept, most likely subconsciously, however, is something that is far more daunting for America to deal with. Instead of agreeing with rhetoric about eternal whiners, take a hard look at YOURSELF.
You know, I get very offended hearing clear-cut racist statements, but reading the things you wrote and being led to believe by nearly every institution that you are not at least complicit with racism is very disheartening.
Jon, the story about the killer catfish is so sad. I can't imagine how painful that was for the poor fish and for you to witness. A well written story. A gifted writer you always have been since I have known you since childhood as your best buddy, vice versa. God Bless You.
Poor killer catfish! Okay, I really enjoyed this story, imagining your mom sitting there, staring down an unsuspecting fish, contemplating the steps she would take to ensure its demise. Priceless! This tiny snippet of your life had everything: mystery, suspense, drama, horror, and humor (though that part was in hindsight). Such a cute story! Thanks for the smile. :)
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