So each day, she had him move one step deeper into the water, until by the end of the week, he was in the water up to his thighs with them ignoring him.

* * *

Around six in the morning, Junior would wake her by splashing her and, first thing, she would walk to the shower, and tug the shower curtain shut around her. At this hour she hoped no one was awake in the dark of the house, watching her shadow through the opaque curtain as she undressed. Her skin was always so tight and sticky from salt water. A shower in fresh water made her feel a bit better.

Of course, within a few minutes of stepping out of the shower, clean and dressed in a dry bathing suit, Junior would splash her, soaking her again with salty water.

* * *

She tucked a plastic sheet over her mattress to stop it from getting wetter, but, in the heat, the plastic fogged up from the damp mattress. Within a few days there were black spots of mold all over the mattress. Each night, when she took the plastic off to sleep, Junior would splash her repeatedly, re-wetting it.

So she replaced the mattress with a 3-inch-thick roll of foam rubber. She tucked the plastic sheet in around the foam, then pulled fitted cotton sheets on over that. This way she didn’t have to sleep directly on the plastic. However, with a plastic undersheet, the heat built up against her body, and each time she rolled over, the plastic crinkled. And whenever Junior splashed water at her, the water just puddled there, until she was sleeping in a tiny warm sea.

She took the plastic undersheet off and slept on the foam covered with a plain cotton sheet, all of it soaked. In the heat, the wet cotton was almost pleasant against her skin. This exhausted, she could fall asleep quickly. Every three days, she rinsed the foam out and hung it up in the sun. At the end of the day she’d bring it back, dry and warm, and put clean sheets on it. This way it didn’t get moldy or crusty with salt.

She did, however, long for a dry pillow.

* * *

During the day, Junior continued occasionally to nip at her heels and calves. Each time, she’d yell and kick at him, but he would do it regardless. He nipped very lightly, like a sheepdog, but, given his teeth, her legs became laced with shallow scratches as though she was living with a pack of feral house cats.

Meanwhile, she was wading through the water that Junior defecated and peed in, in which bits of uneaten food floated. Clean water was constantly pumped in, and salt water was naturally antiseptic, but still grit and grime built up at the bottom. Some of her cuts became infected.

She used a pool vacuum to clean the bottom of the homearium, running the nozzle over every inch of the floor. She vacuumed each morning, like a dutiful housewife. She did it to protect both Junior and herself.