The Scene This Evening, 8:13 pm:

Me, scurrying down the stairs holding a coffee-clouded fishbowl, high-pitched shrieks of “I don’t want my fish to die!” echoing in the night.

The cat drinks the fishwater, and I have taken to filling it back up with the water that the Husband leaves out for the Biggie when he puts her to bed. I didn’t think about what ELSE might be in a cup on the kid’s bureau.

That was one buzzed beta.