Not that I don't like him! But he doesn't do much. It turns out she lives in Troy. "No way," I exclaimed, "Lobster lives in Troy!" So maybe someday Lobster and I will have to visit her, and she can give me crab-tips.
This morning we had a visitor in the lab, so I thought I'd introduce him to Lobster. Poor Lobster was curled up in his water dish anyway, looking thirsty. I thought a bath would be in order, plus that's always a great way to get him to come out of his shell and meet company.
I dunked him in the water and swished him around. It took quite a lot of swishing, but eventually he came out of his shell and waved his claws around. I decided he'd enjoy a nice stroll outside of his crabitat, so I put him into the corral.
His corral is just a bunch of index cards taped together in a circle. When I set him down, he immediately crawled toward the wall and started moving along the perimeter. "He's probably looking for his hut," I said with amusement. I'm still not sure if he enjoys the baths and strolls or not. Crab emotions are difficult to discern.
My attention wandered, and I started talking to somebody about something work-related.
I heard a rustling of moving index cards, and I looked back at Lobster. To my horror, I saw he was pushing the circle of index cards toward the back of the table!
"Oh dear," and I lunged toward them. The corner of the circle (okay it wasn't really a circle, since each index card was really a straight line, but I don't know how many there are so I don't know what geometric shape it really was) passed the end of the table just before I reached it, Lobster stubbornly pushing away at the corner.
I saw a triangle of open space form and grow larger, then Lobster's shell slipped through the space.
There were a couple of thunks as his shell bounced off the heat register below the table.
I crouched at the end of the table, looking behind it. "Lobster? Lobster!"
Irish was sitting nearby. "This might be the end of Lobster," he commented. I'm not entirely sure if he was worried or amused.
I looked around on the window ledge and heater. He was nowhere to be seen. Was he trying some desperate ploy to escape? Was he already skittering through the ductwork to freedom? "Lahhhbsterrrr!"
Irish got down on his knees to join the search. "Wait, I've found him." He grabbed a ballpoint pen, prying the shell from a vertical space in the heat register. Fortunately it's springtime, so the heat is turned off! After some maneuvering, it popped free. I picked the shell up. Lobster was still in there, curled up tightly. "Now he really needs a bath."
I dunked him in the water again, and he grumpily waved his claws around. Upon verifying that he was still alive and moving, I deposited him back in the crabitat. No more walking around for today! Plus, I think he needed some time to himself, to recover from his... near-death? ...near-escape? I'm not sure. Crab emotions are so difficult to discern.