It is with profound and incredibly overdue sadness that I officially announce the passing of Wilson Commons Student Activities’ office fish, Freddy D., aged five months (approximate; I don’t know the ins and outs of betta fish breeding for purchase, what do you think I do in my spare time?), of Rochester, New York. You may have heard of Freddy D., namely from “‘Fish pledge’: the WCSA story”, penned by senior staff writer Lilli Tamm. Those who knew him intimately would say he was a sagely beacon of wisdom, the voice of a generation, a prophet of our time. Those who knew him peripherally would say he was just a fish.
My days as Freddy D.’s begrudging keeper were underscored by an ever-present feeling of existential dread. The limited knowledge I possessed of betta fish life expectancy, coupled with the likelihood that I would one day be responsible for the death of this fish since he was unceremoniously dumped on my desk in a mason jar marked the beginning of my impending doom: my branding as WCSA’s fish killer.
Among my many monikers, I am most often Cat Crawford: WCSA’s star advisor. Cat Crawford: the people’s princess. Cat Crawford: goated, based, and always with the sauce. Cat Crawford: all-talented moderator. NOT Cat Crawford: fish killer. Now, let it be known: I may not have wanted this fish, but I did my duty to my constituents and to my country. I fed him, changed his water, and entertained him with the many interesting things that always seemed to take place in my office. For a time, he was happy.
And then he died. Horrifically, by the way, the way a seven-year-olds’ hamster never dies under normal circumstances. And not even a full month after Lilli published that first article. The irony was palpable.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have joked about how students were saying I was a despicable and inhumane fish parent. Mayhaps I shouldn’t have jested about how they quipped that his pitiful existence in his one-gallon tank was the equivalent of him being on life support, and that he himself wanted me to pull the plug. Maybe I shouldn’t have held as much resentment for the role of fish caretaker as I did, but alas, there I was, face to face with an upside-down fish that had sunk to the bottom of his tank.
So I did what many would think to be in character for me. I sent an email to my entire department and proposed a funeral for the fish. The email reads:
“Dearly beloved colleagues and friends,
On Nov. 8 at 4:04 p.m., our office fish, Freddy D., sadly passed away due to complications with SBD (Swim Bladder Disease). He was surrounded by loved ones at the time of his passing (the Genny Girls, [Author’s Note: For all you Campus Times readers, that’s Courtney Floom, Megan Driscoll, and myself], while researching ways to treat SBD). A group of us will be celebrating his short albeit rollercoaster of a life tomorrow morning by letting him go in the river, all are invited to attend. He will be eulogized by Courtney Floom. Students and the Campus Times have yet to be notified.
Thank you,
The FDCC (Freddy D. Care Committee)”
And so, on a cold November morning, eight WCSA professional staff members, dressed in funeral blacks, met in Genesee Hall to form the funeral procession that would end this WCSA fish saga. Flowers from the university’s award-winning arboretum were picked, “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan was played from a phone en route to Freddy’s final resting place. I was the designated sole pallbearer of his casket (which was a clear plastic cup; we had to fish Freddy D. out of his tank and store him in the break room freezer overnight. Forgive us, we are student affairs professionals not versed in the mortuary sciences). Courtney Floom, Associate Director for Student Leadership Programs, delivered a touching eulogy highlighting the brevity of our lives:
“It is times like these where we pause and reflect on the fragility of life. Freddy himself had a short, but fulfilling life. Some may say, he … did the damn thing. Within two months he upgraded from a one-gallon tank to his five-gallon Freddy D.reamhouse. This upgrade gave him the boost he needed to rise to stardom. Within four months he had his own article in the Campus Times. Fame may have gotten to his head, but Freddy got to our hearts. As we release Freddy into these waters, we also release who we were five months ago.”
Slowly, his things were given away, donated, or repurposed for one reason or another. My office corner that once housed his tank went back to being just a corner, one that my students like to use to dump their things when they visit.
Months went by. Freddy D. seemingly disappeared from the minds and memories of many. Then one day, I had a Carrie Bradshaw moment. As I reflected on who I was in this moment and whether or not Freddy D. would recognize me if he were to meet the Cat of today, I couldn’t help but wonder: had I been jealous of Freddy D. all this time? Jealous of how effortlessly he received love and adoration from my students by simply existing, while I had to spend an entire month’s paycheck at a boba fundraiser at the Shops @ Wilco and write recommendation letters in my office all night until 6:30 a.m. in the great pursuit of earning my students’ appreciation and respect?
This fish, my zodiac’s physical manifestation, a creature of God that I both identified with so deeply yet felt so much misplaced aggravation towards; was it possible that I was jealous of him because he was living the life I so wanted for myself? Why did I feel such an enigmatic connection to this fish? Was it because I myself was born under the sign of the dreamy and intuitive twin fish? Was this fish my twin flame, sent by the divine to teach me a lesson? If so, what lesson was that? That I should, perhaps, learn to say no occasionally, for example, when saddled with the responsibility of taking care of the office pet, perchance?
Was it because his breed, the Siamese fighting fish (Betta splendens), was native to my neck of the woods, and thus, my country brethren? Did I actually feel an inexplicable kinship to the aquatic life form that lived in the corner of my office for the better part of the summer? Did I miss the comfortable silence between me and the Freddster that often accompanied me while I did the mysterious and important work assigned to me by the university? Courtney’s eulogy suddenly flashed through my mind, “As we release Freddy into these waters, we also release who we were five months ago.” Did I deserve to release who I was, and the guilt I felt, when Freddy D. died 17 months ago?
To quote myself from the original article, “If he dies, that’s on me. I refuse to be branded as the fish-killer of WCSA”. Famous last words, Crawford. Rest in peace, Freddy D.. Gone, but only sometimes forgotten.
Cat Crawford is WCSA’s Assistant Director of Student Activities and star advisor extraordinaire by day, and film enthusiast and habitual chess blunderer by night. When she is not working in her office in Genesee 311 during regular work hours, she can be found working late in her office in Genesee 311, and on occasion, in the Campus Times office, where she can be found distracting the writers.
