fish as a pastime

My husband got a fish tank for Christmas and two fish. He had been yearning for an aquarium for years. He told me many times how relaxing it would be to sit and watch the fish glide gently though the water. I watched him as he bustled happily about, preparing a perfect environment for his new friends. Decorations, ph level, water temperature, aquarium salt, a book about cyclids ( the type of fish he got ), sand for the bottom of the tank, a pump, a little tiny net for fish transfers,fish food, and a bigger tank. Then he got another fish.
Within hours, the new fish had been murdered. By the bigger orange cyclid. So my husband purchased another fish. And more paraphenalia to supposedly insure its safety. We figured that the newest fish had been left in his pet store bag too long while the tank was prepared because it died.
My husband went and got another fish. Another fish that the fish guy at the store said would be a match for Sarah:the murdering cyclid. We decided to name him Spartacus... if he made it.
Sarah had met her match. He bobbed. He weaved. He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee. Sarah got nothing for her trouble but tired.
Then my husband decided to get a few goldfish. To be transferred later to the smaller tank for the children. That night we watched as one hapless goldfish was slowly mutilated for four hours. My husband asked me, "Should we take it out?" after Sarah ate its eyeballs and tore its fins to shreds. I told him we were bound by our prime directive.
The other two goldfish flitted around the tank in a panic as their comrad sightlessly tried to swim out of Sarah's reach. "Help us!" their eyes screamed at us through the aquarium glass. "Please!!!"
"Can we transfer them now?" I asked my spouse, transfixed by the carnage. "This is a horror show."
The next morning we found the hollowed out carcass of the unfortunate goldfish drifting amid the plastic kelp. My husband asked if I wanted to see it before he fished it out. I didn't. I had seen too much. I sought refuge in my coffee and meditation books. I tried not to think about the fact that I had stood by and done nothing as poor Napolean was slaughtered. Well, I had sat by and half watched our Thursday night TV line-up feeling uncomfortable. We determined that his flowing fins had made him different and drawn Sarah's ire, that he was simply too beautiful for this world. Then my husband put him down the garbage disposal.

Then he transfered the other two fish to the smaller tank. They had developed black spots as a result, I'm sure, of the stress. They are doing much better now.

So. Fish. They are so much less relaxing than I thought they'd be.