Pam’s Pictorama Post: While I was trotting back and forth to New Jersey on an odd schedule with mom’s final illness, I kept a couple of potential Pictorama Post items in my computer bag in case I was caught out of town and wanted to write a post. While I also would put photos on my phone for this purpose, I had this and another item (an odd and seasonal one, which I will now likely save for a more appropriate time of year).

I barely remember, but I think I scooped this up in a bunch buy on Instagram. (It may have been that midwest maven @MissMollysantiques again – she and I have done a lot of business in the past few years.) It’s a strange item, thin cardboard, lightly embossed. It is smallish, only about five inches across.

While cute images of cats going after a goldfish abound as a trope both in pictures and three dimensional trinkets, this one hardly qualifies for cute and makes an odd decoration. Our tabby spotted kit appears to have been served up a bowl of small (live?) fish and has one hanging from his or her mouth, right before chomping it merrily down.

This cat has no shame and stares out defiantly. He or she is perched on a bit of defined grassy turf with some other sticks and bits about. More fish are indicated in the shallow dish. While there is a bit of paper loss to the tip of kitty’s nose the rest is in excellent shape, right down to the fish and a bit of fluffy jowl hanging off one side below his whiskers.

What on earth was it? I cannot imagine it was advertising and hardly seems like a decorative image. A bit of a mystery I think.

I have written before about my childhood adventures of keeping cats away from our fish-keeping experiments. (Some of this territory was covered in a post that can be found here if you wish to delve a bit further in the subject!) We started with small fishbowls of a gold fish or two. (I don’t remember if these were acquired at fairs or at pet stores – in retrospect our acquisition of them seems so unlike my mother who had strong feelings about animals in captivity I can’t quite add it up and my dad was not the pet guy when we were little. I can only assume that my sister or I were insistent about their acquisition and she acquiesced.)

It seems to me that this was a doomed premise, the goldfish bowl. We started with a pair I remember quite distinctly (and because of this clear and somewhat possessive memory, it is likely that I considered myself in charge of these fish) from when I was about four years old. We were moving from a town, Engelwood, in Northern Jersey, down to Rumson where I would spend the rest of my childhood years.

The fish were being transferred in a large soup pot, one had nice black spots on him and I liked him best. The pot, a light blue enamel one, seems like an especially bad idea (Mom – what were you thinking?) and also in the car with the swaying pot of fish and water was our cat Snoopy. I do think Snoopy was too distracted by his own drama (oddly he also just seemed to be free range in the car – no cat carriers at that time in our lives) to bother the fish however. The fish must have made it through the hour or so journey because I do not remember this being the cause of their demise, although that said I do not remember under what circumstances they ultimately left us.

It was, however, the beginning of a line of fish which at first, lived atop of our refrigerator because for some reason mom thought the cat (which became cats shortly) wouldn’t notice them. Generally they didn’t, however eventually a single fish disappeared overnight. No sign of him or her. Just an empty bowl come morning.

I think Betty realized at this point that we were committing an ongoing act of fish cruelty and, having raised complex tanks of fish in her youth, she set up a proper fish tank for us. We purchased a handful of brightly colored neon tetras (I remember them best), a few angel fish and a gourami or two. There were some tiny shark-y looking things and something we just referred to as the algae eater.

In retrospect, this tank was a lot of work. I remember the periodic water changes and tank cleaning it required, the plastic plants to be scrubbed and the real ones replaced. Again, I amaze a bit at mom taking it on with everything else she had on her hands with three small kids, two cats and a large dog. (Dad would allow himself to only be marginally roped into fish care activities and would at best follow mom’s direction if he was around for a fish care fiesta day.)

I loved the fish however and I would often ask my mother to tell me about the exotic sounding saltwater tanks she had kept as a teenager. Mom was a resourceful teen it seems and also made it all the way into the upper ranks of the Girl Scouts. These tales created an image of teenage Betty as a pillar of resourceful early DIY-type industry and ingenuity which really was probably a fair analysis. (It is making me tear up that I can’t call her up and talk to her about it however. She would have enjoyed reliving it with me.)

I liked to sit and watch them and have some very specific memories of sitting with our cat Zipper and watching the fish together. The air filter would bubble away, rising behind a faux treasure chest nestled in the gravel creating a world unto itself. Meanwhile, Zipper was a feral tabby who came to live with us about that time and unlike Snoopy he had no compunction about his thieving desires where the fish were concerned. He would sit with me and gently pat the surface of the tank somewhat mischievously, looking at us with his huge green eyes full of deceptive faux innocence. After an early incident the tank had something heavy placed on top of it after one of his more adventurous attempts.

Sadly over time it became clear we were just not destined to be good fish caretakers. Eventually the gourami grew huge from eating the other smaller fish – alarmingly we’d find remains in the morning. He was sent to a new home in a larger tank (where perhaps someone ate him dad would darkly speculate), but somehow after that the tank seems to have petered out. Our investment in stray cats and dogs increased over time, tales for the future, but the Butlers left the world of the aquatic behind.