This morning, as per usual, I had a hard time getting out of bed.

I slipped in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of Jeff eventually getting out of bed, hopping in the shower, and getting dressed. He poked fun at my laziness (again, as per usual), and I dozed off again when he left the room. The next thing I was aware of was the sound of the front door slamming closed as he left for the day, usually my signal to wake the hell up already.

Then I felt something move by my foot.

I poked at it, sure I’d just imagined it, or the blankets were shifting or something.

It moved again, clearly on its own this time. I LEAPED out of bed (naked) with a yelp, wondering if Jeff had gone too far down the hallway to hear me or if I was going to have to run (naked) after him to get help removing this rat or whatever from our bed.

Then I heard the alarm going off. “What?” Jeff asked sleepily from his side of the bed, where I’d just poked his foot and then jumped up screaming.

Damn. Usually when I dream about getting up and leaving for work, I dream about ME getting up and leaving, not Jeff…

My career as a shell-collector may be short-lived.

I picked up my first cowrie shell at Old Marineland a few weeks ago. It had no visible inhabitant, and when I picked it up a ton of sand came pouring out – so I assumed it was empty.

It was left to bake in the front seat of my car while I went to an afternoon lecture, and when I returned, I noticed a dried-up something sort of sticking out of one end. Definitely not a snail, it mostly resembled a piece of plant. But with tiny legs and a stringy tail-like end. Ew. I was able to pull the thing out and discard it, and the cowrie went into a bleach/water solution to get rid of any, er, remnants. After I described the critter to another shell collector, they pointed out it was most likely a hermit crab. The part of them you don’t normally get to see is kind of like a tail.

Last weekend, I picked up my second cowrie shell – also appearing empty, and dumping out sand. This one didn’t get the benefit of a sun-baking, however; it went straight into the bleach solution for a day. Then I left it on a paper towel to dry.

The next morning, it stank like dead fish. Not good.

I popped it back in the bleach, figuring I could always resort to digging around there with a paper clip or a needle to pull out whatever was inside.

After work today, I took the shell out of its bleach solution – and saw a tiny little claw hanging out. Attached to a tiny little hermit crab.

Largely deteriorated by two days of soaking in bleach.

YUCK.

A small wooden skewer came in handy for prying the little critter out, and the shell went back into the bleach for what is hopefully the last time.

But I don’t think I can stand to kill any more hermit crabs. It’s not so much the actual killing of them, as the having to look at (and touch!) their slimy little dead bodies. Bleah.