I once swore we would get pets for the children "over my dead body", yet here I am, still alive, and looking at a fish tank containing the three newest members of the household: Hammerhead, Fishey and Wuzzley.
It's not that I don't like animals per se, just that I don't think it's fair to keep them — especially dogs — in a smallish inner-city setting, with a family in which the person most averse to them, i.e. myself, will end up doing almost all the caring.
I barked and bellowed in the negative when asked incessantly about getting a pet, and in the delirium of being nagged, must have agreed to revisit the issue once we moved into our new house. Nek minnit I had a stonking great fish tank in my new living room, plus a big bag of pebbles, numerous bottles of fish food and instructions, which were, of course, promptly lost.
I'm pretty confident that Hammerhead, Fishey and Wuzzley will remain in their tank, happily glooping around, not thinking about much or judging me for my poor housekeeping. Hopefully, the kids won't overfeed them and we will all learn how to change the water without killing the fish or each other. Other than that, the best course seems to be allowing them to get on with goldfishing, them safe in their tank, us barrelling around outside.