I may've been a little hasty.

In a small village in Guatemala, weeping mourners around an open coffin comfort one another in shared grief.  So immersed, are the bereaved, in the intensity of their feeling that they don't notice the deceased sit up and ask what's going on.

That is exactly, PRECISELY, what's happened here, at the House at Porter Street.  Except we're in the kitchen and the coffin is a Tupperware bowl.


You see, Biggest Fish LIVES.  


I THOUGHT he'd left.  He was undeniably still and lifeless, sideways on the bottom of the bowl with body and eyes and mouth covered in white stringy stuff like cobwebs.  It was all over, red rover.  


Of course burial couldn't proceed until Milo came home from kindergarten, so I put the death chamber atop the bookcase (so Poppy and Bongo wouldn't eat the corpse while I was out of the house) and went to pick him up.


Life and death discussions on the way home over a soothing Chup-a-chup and we were ready to start digging.


But then HUH?  Was that his fin moving, or just the water?  Followed swiftly by a cavalcade of exclamations because undeniably Biggest Fish was drawing breath.


It's now four days later.  Biggest Fish has shed all the cobwebs and seems to've expelled a whole lot of undigested food.  His eyes are clear and he's sitting on the bottom of the bowl.


Impossible not to wonder what's going to happen with him now...