Tiny Shark

With a quick flick of his crafty paw, Artemis splashed the little creature onto the beach. At first I thought the wriggling thing was a sunfish—the lake was teeming with them—but the way it was moving made me get up for a closer look.

"What have we got here, my clever cat?"

I put my hand out to stop Artemis, who was coiling for the pounce. It was a curious sight indeed, this little critter at my feet. Definitely a fish of some kind, it was slithering along, its body moving from side to side like a snake. It left a meandering groove in its wake as it propelled itself through the sand. From nose to tail it was about five inches long, and crouching closer I saw it had a curved dorsal fin, seed-bead black eyes, and an overbite lined with a tiny row of very sharp teeth.

What in the world...? I thought, staring in wonder. It can't be.

"Look! It's a tiny shark!"

A young girl wearing blue water-wings pointed to where it was writhing. Unbelievably, she was right, although my adult brain half-refused to accept it. And yet, if it was indeed true, I had to act fast to avoid a crowd gathering.

I chuckled patronizingly at the kid, then shot an exaggerated eye-roll and a knowing look at her parents, who were lounging on towels nearby.

Kids, am I right? was the facial expression I was going for, but I fear it came across a tad creepy, because the girl's mother sat up at once and beckoned her over.

"Stay close to us, Honey," she said.

"But it's true!"

"Just come back over here please. You want some grapes?"

Only mildly appeased, the girl moved off to get her treat.

Excellent.

Whistling to affect a casual air, I sat down beside the little shark, and pulled an empty plastic sandwich bag from my shorts. Using a stick, I discretely nudged the creature into the bag, then went promptly to pour cool water over it from my thermos. The shark had already slowed down considerably in its movements, so I was relieved to see that the water revived it immediately. Still, it looked cramped in its improvised accommodations, so I picked up my things and made to leave.

"Come, Artemis," I called, and my trusty feline followed along.

"Why did that man bring his cat to the beach, Mommy?" I heard Water-Wings say.

Out of her parents' line of sight, I stuck my tongue out at her. She put her chubby hands on her hips and stuck hers out in retort, eliciting a, "Darla! Don't be rude!" from her mother.

I grinned, and got into my car.

Once home, I transferred the little shark into an oversized glass, and dropped in a few pieces of tuna from a can. Artemis meowed expectantly.

"This is for the shark, my friend," I said.

Does it need anything else? I wondered, watching as the shark nosed the tuna flakes that were floating to the bottom. The last thing I needed was for the teeny beast to die on me; it would be worth much more alive.

Funny, it seemed even smaller now than it had at the beach. Maybe it was like a gold fish, only instead of growing to fit its surroundings, it had shrunk in the small sandwich bag.

I shook my head at the foolish notion.

Just because the shark is impossibly small doesn't mean it can defy natural law. No animal can shrink on demand, I reasoned to myself. I looked at the shark, who stared back at me with a look of uncanny intelligence.

"What do you think you're looking at?" I narrowed by eyes. The shark gave a push of his tail, and started swimming in slow circles around its tank.

"Yes, that's right my little bizarrity, you just keep swimming," I commanded.

I felt what some might call a devilish glint come into my eye—I don't pretend to be an angel—as I turned away, saying, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some research to do."

I could have sworn that right then, the miniature swimmer shrank a little bit more.

I went to my computer, wondering who I should contact first. The Museum of Natural History seemed an obvious choice, but perhaps a private collector would pay more for this oddity. I sat down and began typing into the query box, Artemis purring at my feet.

There was a sing-songy rap on the front door: tap tappity tap tap, tap tap.

Groaning, I hoisted myself up. A chipper knock like that could only be one person: my tiringly friendly neighbour, Jane.

I considered not answering, but she would undoubtedly keep trying at half-hour intervals, until her persistence yielded fruit.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

"Hello Jane," I pursed my lips in a forced smile.

"Oh good! You're here," she pushed past me, carrying a greyish sort of casserole in her oven-mitted hands. I looked at it fearfully as she placed it on the counter.

"What's that for?" I asked with a nod towards the dish.

"Well, I wanted to thank you for signing my petition to protect the painted turtles," she beamed a nauseating blast of gratitude at me.

It's true, I had signed the petition, but only to get her out of my hair and off my porch.

"Guess what?" she continued, "We're getting a turtle crossing sign put up at the creek just down the road! Celebration time!"

A cork shot into the air right on cue, and Jane whooped with delight. Sparkling wine spewed onto the tile floor.

Where had the bottle even come from? I wondered, marveling at her parlour trickery despite myself. A hidden pocket within the endless material of her flowing skirt, no doubt.

With a sigh, I relented.

"I'll get us some glasses."

When my back was turned I heard Jane exclaim, "Oh my sweet Mary James! What in the world is that?"

I suddenly remembered the shark still on the counter. Stupid, I thought. Why hadn't I hidden it before answering the door?

I spun around to see her face mere inches from the glass.

"Oh. Um, it's nothing, just a little shark," I said lamely.

Jane let out a dramatic exhale, saying, "My goodness. I have never seen a more beautiful thing. Aren't you just a wonder."

She put her finger to the glass, and the tiny creature bumped his nose against it in comradely acknowledgement.

Then something else happened. If I had blinked I would have missed it; as it was, I watched the shark grow an inch before my very eyes. Luckily, Jane hadn't seen; she was now looking full-on at me, her direct stare a little off-putting.

"I have heard of tea-cup poodles and kittens," she informed me, "but I had no idea they were doing it to sharks. I'm happy to see he can swim straight, at least; some of those over-bred pets are a sorry sight, walking sideways, and with their teeth rotting right out of their heads. Can you believe it?"

I could.

Jane shook her head sadly and tutted her tongue as she lamented the tragedy. Looking back at the shark, she perked up once again and continued, "But not you, little wonder! How amazing. You are a miracle of creation."

The shark did a back somersault—the little show-off—then grew another half-inch, although Jane didn't seem to notice this time either.

"Fascinating," I frowned at the shark.

"You said it. Well, cheers neighbour!"

Without any contributing effort from me, our glasses clanked together.

"Are you hungry?"

Jane spooned out her still-hot creation and we sat down to eat. She offered no explanation as to what lay before us, though I managed to identify a mushroom, and a shrimp. The other ingredients remained a mystery, but I manfully choked it all down. I was raised with good manners.

Afterwards, I showed her out and thanked her for her surprise visit. With the audacity of a child, she muscled her way past me into the house for the second time that evening, just as I was shutting the door. She quick-stepped over to the shark in its glass.

"Just one more look at you, amazing little guy!" she cooed, "What a sweet treasure you are. I wish you a happy life with Crusty Joe here."

She winked back at me with a teasing smile, and I puffed up, indignant.

Kissing her fingertip, she pressed it to the glass, probably leaving a smudge.

"Good luck, my friend," she breathed.

Then she left, at last.

After Jane's show of love and admiration, the shark grew again, to about six inches. I couldn't help but wonder if this was in response to her flowery outpour.

I shrugged and returned to my laptop, carrying it into my bedroom and shutting the door. Jane had already done the dishes— and why shouldn't she have? It was she who brought the dinner, after all— so I planned to hunker down for the rest of the evening.

I started composing an email to an organization called, "Our Dominion" that claimed to offer a multi-course meal featuring gourmet one-of-a-kind dishes of mammal and aquatic rarities, including Rhino tartar, Hummingbird au jus, and Sweetbread of Dolphin. The delicacies were listed at the exorbitant price of $300-$5000 per plate, depending on how many courses you wanted to indulge in. Surely these ingredients aren't legally obtained? I wondered.

Just then, from the kitchen I heard my cat bellow a great "RAOW!"

Dashing out, I saw him flapping his front paw furiously. Attached to it was the tiny shark, and with a final shake Artemis managed to dislodge the beast, flinging it across the room. I hurried over, first to the shark, returning it to the glass before it could expire on me.

Then I checked on Artemis, who was licking his wet paw, looking dejected. His ego had evidently been bruised, but no real harm had been done.

"Artemis," I scolded, "the shark is not for you. And no, I don't believe it was the instigator of your kerfuffle, so you can stop trying to look so innocent."

Artemis glowered at me, then stretched out on the couch.

I placed the glass on top of the refrigerator, to which there was no climbing access for Artemis, although I doubted he would try that little stunt again.

I walked back to my room, frowning. The shark had become smaller again since Jane's departure. It was now tinier than ever, three and a half inches long at most. I begrudgingly resolved to invite Jane over for the pretense of coffee in the morning, so she could exert her magic-grow mojo on the thing. At six or seven inches, it would probably do for at least four servings at "Our Dominion."

I sat down and continued typing, but soon became tired and fell asleep at my desk.

When I woke up it was dark. I could see faint moon-shadows on the walls as I made my way groggily to the kitchen for a drink of water.

I noticed Artemis was still stretched out on the couch, not seeming to have moved at all since his mini shark attack. His relaxed posture suggested complete recovery, and I wondered if he'd learned his lesson.

I glanced up at the shark's glass. I couldn't see very well in the dark, and debated whether or not I should turn on the light to take a look. I strongly dislike losing my night vision to the painful shock of sudden brightness; however, in the end, my curiosity about the creature's current size won out.

Squinting preemptively, I flipped the switch, and peered up at the glass.

My eyes slowly widened, then I blinked hard.

No, I thought, no, no.

But the tiny shark was gone.