By Rilee, age 9
I’ve always wanted a pet. I’d begged my parents for one since I was 6. Even though I was able to remember things, I was usually busy, my parents said. They’d said that they couldn’t buy me one, since I’d be too busy to feed it. But soon enough, I was responsible enough to get a pet. My parents got me a “Betta Fish” and I called it “Sam”.
In December, my mother told me: “The new virus, Covid-19, has just arose in China.” We were fine, but, in January, Covid-19 had reached us. It wasn’t that bad, so we didn’t really fret. I’d put my hand on Sam’s glass whenever I was panicked and it made me feel better. In 2nd grade, we had to learn, remotely, and Sam got sick.
In 4th grade, I came home from school, Sam was 3, and he was getting old. He was still very ill. Day after day, I made sure to check on him. Although Sam was getting older, we were still family. I hoped he’d get better soon, and Covid-19 would be gone. He’s my friend and my very first pet.