Fishes lived in a house of a hill,

and there was a tree near the house. It was one of those huge mulberry trees, the kind that can, when old, get to a trunk width of several meters, and crash granite with it's roots. Someone was too lazy to uproot the tree when it was still possible, and now it was too late. The tree grew at the side of the wall, it's branches twisting around each other and fighting the wall, and finally compromising and adjusting themselves to it, bursting fractally in all directions only once they passed the roof. One day, the tree will win. The roots will rise up through the floor, and the main branches will break right through Cat Fish's room, collapsing the whole house. But there was still a long time till that happens. Or at least it seems there is.

There's probably some kind of a moral here, but it escapes me at the moment. There's probably some kind of a metaphor, too, about living in a tree-doomed house, but I don't remember what a metaphor means at the moment and someone stole my dictionary.

Epic, isn't it?

Besides the constant thrill, the Fish Mul also gives fruit when it feels like it. That is, almost every year - sometimes it skips a year for pure laziness - the tree's spirits wake up and remember they're supposed to be doing something, and fill the tree with thousands of little purplish-black tasty things. Those Purplish black tasty things almost instantly decide they don't like it on the tree and gracefully fall down to the Fishes' grass, or preferably on Poly the dog, who as a consequence becomes a dalmatian for a while. All this lasts for no more than two weeks, and then the tree comes back to it's natural unanimated state. But during those two weeks the Fishes' lawn fills with hungry visitors from all over the land of Iz, eating the purple things and getting incredibly stained in the process. There's probably a metaphor here, too, otherwise I wouldn't have told you that. But no point. Absolutely no point.