Love in a Tropical Climate.

Crisis! Wet crisis! A crustacian crisis, that's wet!
I suppose it was always on the cards. It's just that, somehow, you never think it will happen to you. Well, it happened to me today and I have only just finished putting matters right. Let me explain.
I have a pet lobster. Well, technically he's a crayfish (same thing), an Australian blue crayfish to be precise. He's called Reg - Reg Cray-fish, get it? When I decided to name him after one of the infamous London gangland killers The Krays my soon-to-be ex-wife imposed one condition after asking the following, superb question: "Which of the Krays was the violent one?" I tried to explain that was a little like trying to name the naughtiest of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse but we agreed that Ron was probably the most socially-challenged, having been declared criminally insane and ending his days in Broadmooor. "Well, I don't want him named after the violent one then," she concluded. So, Reg it was. After all, all Reggie Kray did was stab Jack "The Hat" McVitie to death through the eye.
Anyway, Reg the crayfish, like his eponymous dad, is a strange lad with some strange habits. About two months ago he fell in love - with the thermometer in his tank! (that's Reg the crayfish, not me.) It is a chunky, two-inch-diameter digital device (the thermometer, not the tank.....hang on, I'm getting confused now) and is normally stuck on the side of the tank, high up, by a rubber sucker. One day Reg scaled the tank, took it off and spent the rest of his time wandering round with it on display, proudly clutched ahead of him in his pincers. This bizarre behaviour continued and it became a focus of amusement at Pither Towers. Indeed, friends would often call round just to see Reg and his beloved promenading.
About a month ago, Reg's feelings took the inevitable step forward and he began a more physical relationship with his temperature-sensitive other-half by dragging the thermometer at nights into the cave where he sleeps. The pair would emerge the following morning, only to vanish again at nights to no doubt consumate their love (in whatever ways it is possible for a crayfish to screw a thermometer!)
I was happy for him. He was settled. He had found love and he was enjoying the delights of sex.
This week, however, a problem arose. I went to feed Reg this afternoon but he was nowhere to be seen. Then it occurred to me that I had not seen him yesterday, nor on Tuesday. In fact, I couldn't recall when I had see him last. I began a panicked search of the tank and eventually discovered where he was and what had happened. Reginald, bless him, had dragged the thermometer into his cave as per usual but had got it firmly wedged inside there, wedged so tight in fact that he couldn't get out!
I had to resort to some percussive maitainance and smash the cave open to get him and his lover out. A new cave has now been bought for the lad but I'm afraid I've had to curtail his nocturnal habits for a while. He will get his love back soon, but I am going to keep a closer eye on them from now on.
Randy lobsters can join the queue at the gates of Grantham, I think.