When my son was in college, he had a Giant Oscar named Gonzo. Gonzo, after a couple of years, got to be a really big fish...really big. Oscars, as you may know, don't have teeth; they swallow their prey whole. And in Gonzo's case, "prey" was just about anything that got into his tank. My son would bring this monster home for vacations in a large, plastic garbage can and getting Gonzo from the can full of water into the tank was sort of like trying to net a running outboard motor. Gonzo didn't much care for the transfer process and usually managed to splash out three or four gallons of water onto the kitchen floor. But one time I'd managed to shift the big fish to a twenty-five gallon tank without too much splashing. I was feeling pretty good about this until Hobbes the cat decided it was time for a little fishing. As soon as he dipped his paw into the tank, Gonzo decided it was time for dinner. Hobbes was not pleased when the fish tried to swallow his foot and the next thing I knew, a wet and highly irritated cat was sitting on the top of the kitchen cabinets, shaking his paw and glaring at the hungry fish who was now in a tank that only contained about ten gallons of water, the rest being on the kitchen floor.