Story 30. Written by Jim Waitlord

The Yazoo River, a tributary of the mighty Mississippi, may seem like an ordinary waterway to the casual observer, but beneath its surface lies a bustling society of highly intelligent fish. Anglers flock to the Yazoo for the thrill of catching fish smarter than the average bait-and-tackle routine.

But while humans focus on their lines and lures, a very different drama unfolds beneath the water.

In the shadowy depths, the Underwater Municipal Council held an emergency meeting. The mayor, a distinguished-looking catfish with whiskers as long as river reeds, banged a stone on the wreckage of an old tire to call for silence.

“Fellow council members,” he began in a voice that rumbled like an underwater current, “we are facing a crisis. Nobody has been caught in nearly a year!”

A collective gasp rippled through the assembly.

“Do you know what that means?” the mayor continued. “No one is feeding us! No more corn kernels, no dough balls, no delicious worms dropped in from above. Our community is at risk of starvation. I need solutions, and I need them now!”

A smaller bluegill, chair of the Food Supply Committee, raised a fin to speak.

“We must give in order to receive, Mayor,” he said. “The big fish among us should volunteer to get caught. The human laws require those fish to be released, after all. In exchange, we can offer them VIP treatment at the dental clinic – algae wraps, plankton exfoliation, and the removal of annoying hook scars.”

A murmur of approval swirled through the water.

“But that won’t be enough,” the mayor pressed. “We need a plan that benefits the entire ecosystem.”

An old carp, known simply as "The Landlord" due to his past dominance of the pond backwaters, cleared his throat.

“It’s simple,” he said gravely. “Some sacrifices must be made for the greater good. We’ll select volunteers from the weakest among us – the elderly, the sick, and, of course, the gluttons who can’t resist a free meal. It’ll save us money on importing insulin for their overindulgence.”

“Insulin?” whispered a bass to a perch nearby.

“Don’t ask,” the perch replied.

The mayor nodded thoughtfully. “And how do we select these... volunteers?”

“By lottery,” said a quick-witted minnow. “We can spin an old soda cap or play a game of algae bingo. Maybe even Russian roulette – with bubbles, of course.”

Laughter rippled through the council, but a stern pike silenced it with a sharp flick of his tail.

“And what if someone resists?” he growled.

The carp leaned in for dramatic effect. “Then we’ll use force to hook them ourselves.”

The room went silent. A nervous chuckle bubbled up from a catfish in the back, but it was quickly stifled when the mayor gave him a glare sharp enough to cut through reeds.

By the next day, the plan was in motion. The selected fish gathered near an old boot lodged in the riverbed – the designated “lottery headquarters.” The rusty soda cap spun on a rock, and each fish held its breath as it came to a stop.

One by one, the “lucky winners” approached the surface, ready to be hooked and released for the good of their community.

“Don’t worry!” one brave volunteer called as he swam toward the bait. “We’ll be back soon, with stories to tell!”

And indeed, they were. Hours later, the volunteers returned, giddy from their brief time above the water. They shared tales of wiggling on hooks, the strange faces of humans staring at them, and the odd sensation of being plopped back into the river.

The fish celebrated their heroic sacrifice, feasting on the corn, bread, and worms that soon followed as the anglers, thrilled by their success, resumed their regular visits.

For a while, peace returned to the Yazoo River. But deep down, the fish all knew the truth: life here wasn’t just about survival. It was a complicated dance of politics, self-sacrifice, and just a little bit of absurdity.

The Secret Life of Big Pets