I have — excuse me, had — a pair of Redcap Oranda goldfish. Their names were Penelopé and Marla, after Penelopé Cruz and Helena Bonham Carter’s character from Fight Club. This story is epically heart-wrenching and tragic, so it’s a good thing you’re reading, rather than having me tell directly to your face this tale of heartbreak, questionable intelligence and love. Misty eyes may occur for both of us.

It was pouring the day I walked from campus to the Petco on Northeast 45th Street to adopt them. I felt the best way to accessorize my living room bookcase would be with a bowl of goldfish. Once I saw them, it was obvious that this piscine duo would have to come home with me — and so they did, after an on-foot detour to a friend’s home in Wallingford to collect a beautiful old coffee table and a car ride back to Northgate.

With impenetrably fogged-over windows rolled down, and extremely unsafe seating to accommodate my new glass-topped wonder of furniture, we listened to Chopin and Tchaikovsky as we were slowly saturated with rain; and we named the fish.

I mention this detailed and tedious account because of a question burning in my mind a week after their black fate: Did Penelopé and Marla remember entering into my possession?

“How,” people would ask, “can you tell Marla from Penelopé?” My answer — which is only clear to those familiar with the Redcap Oranda — was always that Penelopé had more of a hood on her head than Marla.

It is common Internet speculation that goldfish have three-second memories. Some sources cite up to three minutes, but it appears that the Dory model from Finding Nemo is what sticks in the collective thoughts of humanity concerning a fish’s skill at remembering.

Here begins the tearjerker: One evening last week, I went to feed Penelopé and Marla. As best I can tell, their water filter was unplugged to make room for an iPod charger. My roommate and I found Marla softly, languidly nudging the cold corpse of Penelope. Well, as a cold-blooded fish, dying wouldn’t change her temperature, so it’s figurative. One way or another, she was dead.

And for the haters thinking “Marla was eating Penelopé, that’s what fish do when other fish die,” I promise it was not for nourishment that Marla beckoned Penelopé. I’ve seen more than my share of partially devoured dead fish in my years as an aquariumist. Penelopé was being mourned. Well, that may be a little overstated, but Marla nudged her companion for about 10 minutes.

Was it because she was deeply sad about her dead friend? If so, she must have had a memory to document their close bond and engender the emotions of sadness.

Perhaps she really did have memory á la Memento, where each new moment refreshed the agony of sadness upon constantly rediscovering her slowly decomposing friend.

I moved Marla to a different aquarium, but to no avail. Her existence ceased, whether by personal choice or nature, three days later.

Was this a tale of fish whose filter deprivation led to poor health and life failure? Do they actually have well-developed memories and strong “personal” bonds that cause them to waste away from sadness? Are they simply short-thinking things with huge hearts? Or was she just hungry?

No matter what the case, the loss of Penelopé and Marla calls to mind Where the Red Fern Grows — animal sadness will always be significant, and I am glad to share this story of love and sadness in a goldfish bowl.

Reach columnist Matthew Jackson at opinion@dailyuw.com.