The Suitcase Lady


June 4, 2013, 9:25 pm

Our first animal rescue was not a cat. This fact probably comes as a surprise to those who know us. Our first rescue was a crustacean, a grapefruit size hermit crab.

All rescue animals come with sad stories, and his was no exception. This gigantic crab plus his shell home and small terrarium was dropped off at the creative arts kindergarten where I worked. His pincers were strong enough to snap off a tot’s misplaced fingers. A note suggested that crab would be an interesting pet for our school. We knew otherwise.

None of the school’s staff volunteered to take him home, but one person offered to dispose of him.  That’s when I raised my hand and left with a crab in the back seat of my car.

A pet rock would have had a more scintillating personality than our crab. For months and months, we never saw him move. In fact, the only proof of life was a small amount of missing food and water each morning.

But then one day I was cleaning his terrarium and decided to put Crabby on the laundry room floor so I could thoroughly scour his tank. A few moments later, I heard a strange thumping, clunking sound. Our “comatose” crab was scooting down the hall to the living room banging his shell against the baseboard he was following. I was simultaneously stunned and heartbroken. His message was clear; would I or any other creature sprint about if confined to a small, uninteresting environment? From  that day for the rest of his life, Hermit Crab had play time every day. Clunk, clunk, clunk became a familiar sound as he explored the entire house via the baseboards.

crabby 1

Another “crabby” friend.


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