Rack up another fatality from this hurricane weekend. My office pet, Phil the Betta, gave up the ghost; I found him stuck in the plastic plants this morning.

In fitting tribute, I had sushi for lunch. (No, I didn’t turn him into lunch; the spicy rolls came from the downtown Publix. I even had to request a pair of chopsticks, because unfortunately, I haven’t gotten my pair of sushi specs yet.)

Phil had fallen ill a couple of weeks ago. He appeared to have a severe gastrointestinal illness. He got tremendously bloated, and wouldn’t eat for an entire week. That made treating him a problem. So I just crossed my fingers that it would pass. I didn’t think it would; he stopped swimming around in his usual frenetic pace, and only moved to scrape his bottom across the gravel. Didn’t help, obviously.

He had a pretty good run. We had him in the office for nearly two and a half years; assuming he was only a couple of months old when we got him, I’m guessing he lived the typical lifespan for a betta. So it’s all good.

We must move on. This afternoon, I bought a new betta. This one’s blue. I think I’ll name him Sushi, as cutesy as that is. He’ll make a fine replacement.