My fish

For the past couple months, I have owned a female betta fish who I call Genny. Her proper name is Genre--yes, "Genre" directly derived from the word that means which category of literature a book falls into.
How did she get this name, exactly?
Well.
At one point, when my sister and I were conversing about what her name should be, she (my sister) was like, "Genre!!! Doesn't that sound like the best fish name in the history of the universe?"
And it stuck.
I really don't know WHY we found it funny, but since both of our brains coincidentally decided to take a very long nap on the same day, it became her official name.

(That quote, the one up there that is like, "Genre!!! Doesn't that sound like the best fish name in the history of the universe?" is probably not 100% accurate, just FYI.)

Eventually, the conversation went overboard and we started wondering if we should name her Nonfiction, but I said NYUUUU!

You may think the life of a fish is really dull, but as far as I'm concerned, this is the most accurate summary of Genre's:

(This looks weirdly a lot like that 'Doge' meme thing... if you know what I mean... eehhehheh...)
I am almost positive that she goes on like that in a joyful loop 24 hours a day--that is, until she spots the little yellow container which contains her fish food. Then she is like:

 

And then, she totally starts to explode, as if not doing so will result in her not getting her precious food. If she could escape her tank's flimsy glass barrier and somehow scoot safely through the bedroom air, she would probably pound on my face until I opened the bottle, and then dive in to devour all its content.

But she can't.

So she explodes.

Like so:

My computer won't let me enlarge pictures anymore!!! Grr. D:<

Click to enlarge.

Once I actually drop the piece of food in, though, she has serious and somewhat troubling difficulty finding it.

(Notice the how disturbingly close the food is to her snout in the picture? I assure you, that was 100% intended.)

She looks at me with her innocent little donut-shaped fishy eyes, like, "Howww could you do this to me? D: D: D:"

So I often have to push the piece of fish food just so it is barely half a centimeter away from her eyeballs. And that is difficult to do while she is flailing around as shown in the first picture.

But once she actually realizes that she can truly reach the food, once and for all, she is really enthusiastic about eating it. She eats with flair, let me say. She thinks she's a crocodile. She snaps at her precious little orb with all the energy that a fish can possibly snap at her precious little orb with.

 

 

 

It's difficult to capture the true intensity of her forceful bite with my inadequate drawing skills and lack of a video, which would better show how she stalks her prey than a bunch of scrappy drawings of revolting orange finned things that may or may not be fish.

It took several tries to draw them, although it is seriously not worth it because nobody in the world actually reads this blog. : /

But she attacks her food.

Seriously.

She draws her self back, slowly and surely, then launches herself through the water, making a beeline for her piece of food. Then--and I'm not sure how she does this, since she doesn't have teeth--she rips off one half of the food, then swallows.

She then resumes doing this until she has swallowed the second piece of her food.

 And then, she is just like: