Gloop's Grand Ambition

Barnaby Buttercup considered himself a man of simple pleasures: a lukewarm tea, an untouched crossword, and Gloop, his goldfish. Gloop, however, was having an existential crisis disguised as a hostile takeover. It began subtly. Barnaby found a miniature parchment, actually a dried piece of algae, near Gloop’s tank, inscribed with what appeared to be tiny, frantic squiggles. He dismissed it as tank residue.

Then came the demands. First, a larger tank, for “the optimal expansion of the Aqueous Enlightenment Collective.” Barnaby, attributing it to guilt over Gloop’s cramped quarters, complied. Next, he found a tiny blueprint for a water-powered micro-elevator, designed, he suspected, to allow Gloop to access the kitchen counter. Barnaby's neighbour, Agnes, just suggested he might be "over-oxygenating the water again."

The final straw was the inter-species symposium. Barnaby walked into his living room to find Gloop, wearing a microscopic fez fashioned from a sequin, addressing a rapt audience of three other goldfish (whom Barnaby had never seen before) and a particularly bewildered snail. They were seated around a tiny, bubble-powered podium, listening intently as Gloop lectured on "the inherent injustices of the surface-dwelling world." One of the new goldfish, a particularly portly fantail named Bartholomew, was taking notes with a quill made from a feather Barnaby hadn't known he owned.

Barnaby blinked. "Gloop?" he ventured.

Gloop, without missing a beat, flicked a fin dismissively. "Silence, Barnaby! Can't you see we're discussing the finer points of plankton-based economics? You wouldn't understand. Your fiscal policies are, frankly, quite shallow." Barnaby sighed, walked to the fridge, and retrieved a beer. He supposed he'd have to start charging Gloop rent. The revolution, it seemed, would not be televised, but it might be live-streamed from a fish tank.