As you might recall, we had a pet betta fish about a year ago. His name was Jimmy John. He lived for two glorious months until I found him face-down in his gravel one morning just before Easter. We wrapped him in a paper-towel shroud and buried him in the yard. So great was WCK's grieving that she waited, oh, a good five or ten minutes before asking, "Can we get another fish now?" all day, every day for nearly a year.
I finally gave in a couple of weeks ago. We got a new betta fish named Sam (Sam isn't as good of a name as Jimmy John, but then, what is?). I had a very specific strategy in adopting Sam in early March: I figured that, with our track record, he'd pass away before we go away on our summer vacation, thus eliminating the need for us to find a fish-sitter. I'm lazy that way.
Of course, I would hate if Sam died right away. I'm lazy, but I'm not evil. I realized that Sam hit an important milestone over the weekend. The teenage kid in the fish section at PetSmart told me that all fish come with a 14-day guarantee. We've now had Sam so long that if he dies now, we won't get our money back. Keep up the great work, Sam!