For a pet owner, every morning can be a surprise: the “present” your not-quite-housetrained puppy left by your bedroom door; the mouse you didn’t know was living beneath your floorboards now lovingly carried in your kitten’s mouth. But such surprises are rare when you own hermit crabs. The confines of a crabitat leave little room for improvisation. Most of our shocks have come from the humorous places crabs choose to bury themselves, or the discovery that the crabs are molting/not molting—which amounts to the same thing.
But then there’s this:
Apparently our thermo-hygro-measurer-doohickey fell off the tank wall last night, and Sanders took the opportunity to bury it. Perhaps he even knocked it down. I choose to believe that he’d been planning this heist for weeks, an Ocean’s One precambrian prequel. And if Steven Soderbergh is listening, I’m happy to make the rights available for this daring escapade.