The Not So Mysterious Disappearing Fish

Bad news.

I woke up today and discovered that I have two bettas. This wouldn't be a problem, except that I went to bed having three bettas. The oldest one, the Earl of Kent (one of the three suviving characters in King Lear--that matter, that is), is in a tank by his lonesome, and the lid is sort of taped down so missy Charlotte doesn't snack at night when I'm not looking. She loves to torment him, and I wonder why he doesn't have a heart attack and float, but he's quite hardy. The other two, Freddy Mercury and Alexander the Great, live in a dual tank, with a divider to keep them from fighting. Their lid is also taped down to prevent snacking. Guess which fish is no longer with me?

What I conclude is this: the fish were hungry; they were eating their pellets as I retired to the bedroom. Freddy started acting up, trying to get the slower-eating Alexander's food through the divider. He leapt up to snag a pellet that wasn't there, and the leap was at a nearly impossible angle that deposited him, ricochette or airball, into the other side of the tank. Fighting ensued. Unlike their namesakes, these fish fought to a different outcome. Alexander the Great was such a wimp that he no longer exists, even in skeleton form. Freddy the singer devoured his opponent and stalks the stolen territory.

Now, I would suspect Charlotte, but Freddy is in the wrong side of the tank, the tape is still in place, and there is no sign of a struggle of that variety. If tomorrow I wake up to find Freddy gone, I will then know that Charlotte is both cunning and dextrous--more so than any other cat alive. If she can replace tape the way she found it... I live in horror of the day she grows tired of her lot in life--and decides to exact revenge on the two-legged opressor.

Is this ... the end?