The Curious Crab Story

The scuttle sound startled me. I set down my coffee cup, surveyed the early morning landscape. Nearly four a.m., the kitchen still dark, peaceful. My husband asleep, Tango the cat curled in nocturnal nonchalance.

The scuttle grew insistent. Click-click on ceramic tile caught Tango’s attention. She jumped from her chair, took a tentative step toward a large floor fan parked in one corner of the kitchen. Whiskers stiff, ears flapped, Tango prepared for battle. One paw shot forward, curled around the base of the fan, poked air. She was on to something. I grabbed a broom, made feeble stabs on the other side of the fan.

Chaos ensued: the thing scurried from its hiding place, Tango darted after it. I jumped on a chair, handfuls of bathrobe clutched around my knees. The thing paused long enough for me to assess it: six-inch gray rounded-oblong with claw-like appendages jutting from each side of its body. I stared in disbelief. The claws looked to be crab. Crab? Here? Five blocks from the beach? The thing reared up, stared me down with eyes tiny and black as old-fashioned jet beads, waved claws then scooted sideways under a counter.

My shrieks rousted my husband from slumber. With a minimum of grumble he trapped and transported the thing out the door to the backyard, set it underneath a banana tree.

Imagination percolating, I began to embroider my morning adventure: a crab crawled from the sea, scampered along cobblestone streets, crisscrossed yards and porches to squeeze through the screen door of my kitchen. I couldn’t wait to share the story.

Ines, who owns a popular restaurant on San Pancho’s main street, Tercer Mundo, was first to hear my news.

"You won’t believe what happened," I said. She smiled, tilted her head in encouragement.
"A crab came into my kitchen! It must have walked up from the beach...or another beach...or..."

"It is common," said Ines, trying to suppress a laugh. "It is a sign the rains are coming." She told me late spring thousands of the soft-shelled land crabs navigate down the mountains east of San Pancho. By mid-summer the roads are thick with them. With charming accent, she added, "They go crunch-crunch under the tires."

Mildly deflated I tucked away my anecdote before I told others. But in the back of my mind resides yet a tall tale about a lonely land crab that makes an incredible journey. Perhaps I should write about it.