Fishy Bites the Dust

Before bed the other night, Alec discovered Fishy floating belly up in the fish tank.  He hadn’t been looking so good—he’d gotten sort of bloated around the middle.  Truth be told, the tank hasn’t been looking so good either.  So I feel kind of guilty—we might have unwittingly pushed him over the edge.  Alec told Milo yesterday morning, and he took it pretty hard.   Fishy was his fish, and he’s been here since the beginning.  Last night before bed we gathered around the fish tank, inhabited now only by Carolina and the Zipper, and held a little memorial service.  We all said a few things we remembered about Fishy, and that was that.

Zadie slept like a champ again, and is happy as a clam here with her extended tribe.

I spoke with my colleague Amalia this morning, who spent all day yesterday in Plaza Catalunya.  She was horrified by what she saw—the destruction, the beatings.  The press seems to speaking pretty much with one voice.  Videos posted on the New York Times website are unbelievable.  Amalia told me the police went first for the communications group in the plaza, destroying computers.  She saw a woman bringing water back into the plaza who was chased and beaten by police.  The local papers today describe police incompetence—apparently, they came in with garbage trucks, loaded them up, and had no exit route. They panicked, and violence ensued.

Meanwhile, the enormous screens that were to have been set up for a public viewing of the Champions League Final—Barca vs. Manchester United—were set up at the Arc de Triomphe instead.  But Plaza Catalunya is the traditional place of celebration, so no one knows what will happen if (or, more accurately, when) Barca wins tonight.  We will watch at home—Milo is dressed in his human highlighter suit, and Zadie is wearing her new Barca bib.