They really do go in threes. First Bergman, then Antonioni. Now, sadly, Drippy the Fish.

    Admittedly, Drippy the Fish was neither a famous film director nor a mammal. Still, over the course of his short and controversial life, Drippy the Fish was adored by several dozen fierce advocates of his particular style of being a fish. But, despite Drippy the Fish's generously quiet ways and optimistically pragmatic stoicism, also made powerful enemies.

Backstory

    For those who don't remember Drippy the Fish, here's the recap:
    Drippy the Fish was a standard issue, semi-disposable goldfish. The sort fish one might have one at a school fare coin toss. He'd become the office mascot and quickly eclipsed the popularity of the previous "mascot" (in the sense of "animal whose presence one was forced to tolerate in order to preserve your employment status"), the CEO's flatulent hound.
    Seemingly jealous of Drippy the Fish's universal popularity, the CEO had attempted to turn the cubeland masses against the beloved Carassius auratus by refusing to put Drippy the Fish's upkeep on the corporate dime. Instead of causing the men and women of the downtown office to kick Drippy the Fish to the bowl side, this made Drippy the Fish into a cause cèlébre, a pint-sized icon of the continuing tension between the cube drones and the uptown management.
    Things came to a head when a penny was discovered in Drippy the Fish's tank. Apparently copper is toxic to Drippy the Fishes. Pro-Fishists claimed this was an assassination attempt. The CEO dismissed such charges as absurd. Drippy the Fish made no statement, being both naturally taciturn and a fish.

Office Mascot: 2

    Shortly after the alleged attempt on Drippy the Fish's life, his supporters purchased fake plants and rocks for his previously spartan tank. The "plants" were long, thin strands of bright green plastic studded with eerily regular plastic leaves the shape of spades and a color a tad darker than olive drab. The rock was plastic as well. A right triangle with a circle cut out of the middle, brown and molded for a faux smooth river rock texture, the thing looked like a raisin somebody had bonsai'ed into the shape of an A. It wasn't clear to me whether these items were meant as decoration or cover.
    Drippy the Fish was grateful, I guess. They were pretty boss as far as fake plants and rocks go.

    Drippy the Fish's brush with death via penny left him with what our office secretary diagnosed as "serious depression." Despite his friend's efforts to spruce up his home, Drippy the Fish grew even more listless than normal – which is saying something when you consider that, prior to the alleged assassination attempt, Drippy the Fish spent his days taking leisurely-to-the-point-of-catatonic tours of a still mostly empty tank.
    He also got what I can only interpret as death obsessed. He would float upside down for hours or wedge himself into some point in the tank and sag there, like a golden deflated balloon. He did this all the time. Jack, on of the drones from customer service, claimed that Drippy the Fish was playing possum. Drippy the Fish was trying to divert another assassination attempt by pretending to be already dead. Others felt that this was simply another sign of Drippy the Fish's deteriorating mental health.
    Personally, I buy neither of these theories. They say that, before his death, MLK started to obsess about his legacy and got fixated on the idea of his own assassination. The Buddha made cryptic remarks before for his sudden death by illness that suggests he had some intimation of his coming demise. Prehaps, like these great figures, Drippy the Fish felt death's approach.

    Yesterday Death, much smaller than you'd expect and wearing a miniscule Scuba tank and tiny little swim fins, came to Drippy the Fish.

    Drippy was found on the bottom of his tank, upside down. An iconoclast to the end, he wouldn't float to the top and required that we went in after him.

    The secretary cried. She was really broken up.

    There were whispers that this was an assassination. That, after the penny episode, the agents of the uptown office found some undetectable toxin. Maybe they even found something that would drive Drippy the Fish mad before it finished him off. Some of us imagined the CEO and his cronies, gathered around the uptown conference room table (the nice one with the view of Times Square, on 14), smoking fat cigars, shaking hands, a portrait of the CEO's dog with mourning bunting still draped about it, hanging on the wall behind them.

    True or not, I think Drippy the Fish wouldn't have wanted us to live in bitterness. If he ever could have talked, he would have told us not to fruitlessly spend our energies and lay waste our days wallowing in the pitiful revenge fantasies of the impotent. Instead, I think, he would have said, in a voice that has the burble-burble effect you get when you quickly rub your finger up and down on your lips while you talk, to live by his example. Chill out, enjoy your regularly scheduled meal times, and never, ever, under any circumstances do anything remotely productive.