... because we need to play "Taps." Sad day for Smash -- he wasn't looking at all well when I came back from Thanksgiving, and now his spindly feelers, his buggy eyes and weird little claws, they are stilled forever. I hope he is in the Great Seashore in the Sky, eating red grapes only and SMASHing everything in sight.
Hulk, for his part, is doing fine, and would probably be gloating if hermit crabs were capable of gloating. And I really do think they loathed each other, if hermit crabs were capable of loathing. They always stayed as far apart as possible even though they're supposedly social animals. Interesting that the big, active, aggressive, smashful one is gone, and the tiny, quiet one is still alive -- which, according to hermit crab lore (does the Internet qualify as a provider of lore?), is kind of normal, because the big ones tend to die sooner. Live fast, die young, I guess. I'm going to move the cage up to the third floor, though. I wonder if it's too cold even on their new second-floor home.
Anyway. Farewell, Smash. I'm sorry that I'm going to have to go now and put you in a trashcan in a Victoria's Secret bag, but you taught us much. I can't think of any of it quite now, but I'm sure it's there somewhere.
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