When I managed the pet store I had a regular customer who we kept supplied with goldfish of a certain color and size, one at a time.  No matter how well we instructed her on the care and feeding of goldfish, her son managed to kill about one a week. 

     After the third week, she explained it to me.

       You see her son had Down’s syndrome and took great enjoyment in feeding his little pet.  Yes, he fed the fish several times a day and no matter how often she changed the water, eventually the poor over-fed fish would die.  She would sneak the tiny corpse out and replace it with a live fish while he was at school.

     When she would come in for a new fish, I would sort through a huge tank of goldfish to find one the right shade of orange.  We would joke about what number Finter this one was.

     Would you have the heart to tell the sweet boy that he killed his fish?  My weekly hunt for a new Finter was easy much easier than her job would be if he ever caught on.

     You all have a good one and stay warm!