The Day Bartholomew the Goldfish Redecorated Reality

Bartholomew, a goldfish of unremarkable pedigree, had always harbored a secret passion for interior design. One Tuesday, while Mildred the cat was napping on the warmest sunbeam, Bartholomew’s passion bloomed into telekinetic fury. First, the beige sofa levitated, then spun 180 degrees, landing perfectly where the television used to be. The television, meanwhile, was now a rather fetching hat for a garden gnome Bartholomew had ‘acquired’ from Mrs. Henderson’s lawn.

His human, Kevin, walked in, coffee mug in hand, and blinked. "Bartholomew?" he croaked, as a floating potted fern rearranged itself into a tasteful chandelier. "Did you... did you just replace my toilet with a giant conch shell?"

Bartholomew, from his bubbling tank, gave a knowing flick of his tail. He’d even hired contractors: a particularly enthusiastic hermit crab named Sheldon was busy attaching seashells to the ceiling fan, while a nervous-looking snail, Gary, was attempting to polish the windows with a miniature chamois cloth, leaving a glistening trail of slime.

"But... why the rubber ducks in the fireplace?" Kevin asked, utterly bewildered.

Bartholomew blew a triumphant bubble. "A splash of *unexpected whimsy*, Kevin," he seemed to communicate, "and excellent acoustical properties for when the sea shanties begin." Kevin glanced at the calendar. It wasn't even Friday yet. He sighed, then noticed his favorite armchair had been replaced by a meticulously stacked pyramid of avocados. "This is going to be a long week," he mumbled, reaching for a particularly ripe avocado.