I fed him when I was struggling to look after myself – and he watched as I became a much happier, more liberated person
I first had goldfish as a child: two lived in a little pond we had made out of a kitchen sink in the garden. But I always worried I had accidentally killed them. I have a vague memory of taking our guinea pig, Stripey, down to meet the fish, holding him over the pond to see them, and his poo landing almost straight in their mouths. They died shortly afterwards. So I never thought I’d have them again as pets, until about 25 years later a friend asked me to look after Squishy, an orange fancy goldfish.
Squishy looked an awful lot like a stubby penis. But I was instantly hooked and wanted to get him a friend. The first time I saw Bruno in the pet shop, I was enchanted. I had never seen black moors before and found their big, blueberry eyes so funny to look at. Bruno was only about the length of an index finger, his eyes taking up most of his head, and his scales were velvet-black.
