MISSING IN ACTION

We can be fairly certain bowls of melted butter had nothing to do with it. As there would have been greasy spots on the bed. Which I would have noticed. Additionally, there has not been a time in the last eight months more or less that I woke up smelling like butyric acid and ginger or garlic. I'm fairly certain of that. So we can be sure that the various frogs and the turkey vulture on my bed did not eat him.

Nevertheless, the smal crab wearing a sweater who joined the household last December, who lives on my side, is missing in action. I have told my apartment mate that he's bound to be around somewhere, but crabs are an adventurous lot. Decapods, by and large, are not strictly territorial. They're rather like the adventurous commercial travellers of the crustacial world. Hat salesmen. "Hello, can I interest you in a fancy chapeau?" You will try one or two of them on, the crab will assure you that you look stunning, and the sale will be finalized.
Trust me. Would I lie? I'm an expert, I can say these things!

I don't think I convinced her. She retired to her room looking worried.

He's bound to turn up again. Sometime in the next few days I shall have to turn my quarters upside down searching. Last night I alreay founds some tins of pipetobacco and two books that I had entirely forgotten about.

Oh, so that's where the pajama top is. I'd simply been using tee-shirts.

My tee-shirts come from three different fields of enterprise: computers, spy toys, and the tobacco trade. They serve as undershirts and pajama tops. Crabbity dude is probably wearing one of them. While hiding among the dictionaries.
I'm sure I'll find him.



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