I shouldn’t have been surprised. Two nights earlier I’d been dining on octopus sushi at a fine Manhattan restaurant. I guess I had it coming.
We all know that writers suffer from tormented psyches, but this seems an occupational hazard particular to my subject matter. I’m sure the PETA people who’ve been sending me hate mail about my willingness to slaughter and eat innocent lobsters will have a field day with this octopus dream.
I don’t feel guilty about eating lobsters, because I know how primitive they are. Octopuses are another story; as I learned researching The Zen of Fish, they’re complex animals with serious smarts. As Roland Anderson of the Seattle Aquarium puts it:
Octopuses can distinguish between different-shaped targets; they can learn to run simple mazes; they can open jars; they can navigate by using simple landmarks; they can use tools; they have different temperaments that can be loosely be called “personalities”; and they have even demonstrated play behavior.
That said, they are merciless predators as well. According to octopus expert Peter Boyle, they deal with their prey in a “lengthy and complicated way.” Had I in fact been caught by a man-eating octopus, the octopus would have first immobilized me and then meticulously, and slowly, removed every ounce of flesh from my bones using secretions from its salivary glands. This is called “extracellular enzymatic digestion.”
No wonder I was having nightmares.
