Life in the Pond

“Don’t eat it,” Grandpa Catfish said, “Be disciplined for the good of the whole.” The scrumptious nugget of good smelling food lay in front of the young fish but he wisely resisted the temptation and felt the eye of Grandpa upon him as he remained quietly in the mud.

It had been a long summer. The lack of rain coupled with extreme heat had caused terrible evaporation of the water in the tank. What had once been a glorious, free existence full of unlimited food, space, fun, and frivolous attention to relationship building, had fallen into a quagmire of despair, hunger, claustrophobia, and fear. The world in which they inhabited had closed in around them and become a prison with little hope for freedom anytime soon. As the tank became smaller and smaller, so did the optimism and hope. The sun raged upon the little world, the food became scarce, and the need to swim fast and far simply became a memory of days gone by. What little food was available was discouraged due to not wanting to grow or increase any waste that might ultimately be the demise of the class of catfish.

What had once been an adventure to find a new friend had become a burden caused from undue close proximity. Fin met fin and skin touched skin as the catfish were forced to live without the luxury of swimming. It was not unusual to hear bickering and fighting among even the closest friends. In some ways, the fighting lent a feeling of spirit to the little clan, but eventually the disagreeing dissolved into a quiet despondency and a void of the spirit of life that sustains us even in the most difficult of times.

Meanwhile Grandpa Catfish did what he had done several times before in his long life. He buried himself down in the cool mud and did not move. He used very little to no energy and therefore needed no food. He remained still and happy and disciplined and hopeful that the rains would return as they had before and he would continue his former existence. He was large. Very large and very experienced in the art of survival. He made efforts to instruct the young fish in how to keep living, but inevitably many of them would succumb to selfish rebellion and end up fodder for the raccoons or birds or even on the end of fishing pole. Yet throughout the long summer, some of the fish did learn and buried themselves successfully in the mud to wait out the drought.

The toughest times were the flirtations of drops. The little teasers that fell from the sky only to stop after a few moments. Droplets that did little to nothing for tank and for the fish but which often caused an emotional impact only to rebound into total despair. So the summer continued and the wise catfish hunkered down in the mud patiently but also rather intensely awaiting the rain.

And the little catfish sacrificed his desire for the little nugget of food for the good of the whole. He was rewarded with his life as he remained in the mud and when the rains did come, he returned to the old ways but this time prudently aware that when the water decreases, the wisdom should increase. The little catfish just may one day be the next Grandpa Catfish. Such is the life of a catfish in the pond.