As the hazy light filtered through the trees, my great prize revealed itself to me. The whiskers that punctured the surface of the water looked like they could have been small creatures themselves.

My grandmothers catfish, the one of legend, swam right straight up to my boat. I held images of being capsized and eaten close to heart. But I didn’t panic.

I simply held and so did it. Its large, wet eyes regarded me and my boat with intense interest. The creature looked far less monstrous from that close up, almost looking… lonely.

But that’s a projection. It was a fish. I took my harpoon in hand, expected (hoped really) that my sudden move would send it off. But it held, still watching.

“Well… what are you still doing here?” Yes, I spoke with the fish. It did not respond (one part of the legend that was embellished I suppose.

But it did, after a moment, swim away with no haste. I did not throw my harpoon and went home a proud and noble failure.