There was one bunny and then none, no frogs then a bunch of tadpoles then several frogs then none, four mice then three then two and now two in separate cages.
And then there are the sea monkeys. Once a packet of dust on a toystore shelf, now mating happily into the new year.
Track their timeline back to September, when the sea monkeys were given to Theo on the occasion of his 8th birthday, under the assumption they'd provide a week's worth of entertainment.
Now it's December, with no signs of this letting up.
The large sea monkey population continues its happy swirling and weeks-long mating. But these are not September's monkeys, who made a feminist of Amy, as she watched the large, egg-sac heavy female struggle to swim for food with a mate hanging on; these are the grandchildren of the grandchildren. Generations upon generations have come and gone as I prepare meals in my kitchen.
If I don't feed them, they hover, facing me at the sink, their large eyes (eyes?) on me, their little bodies treading water to hold this pose of intimidation.
I expect personality from the mice, somewhat larger creatures with clearly defined eyes and cute little furry bodies. Of the 4 original mice, one was always a bully. "B" we wrote on his back, to remind us he'd Bite if picked up, this Bully, a very Bad mouse. Finally we had to give him his own cage.
But I do not expect character traits in dust from an envelope.
Sea monkeys staring me down? What a magical time of year.
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