We named him Squirt – not because he was the smallest of the 16 cuttlefish in the pool, but because anyone with the audacity to scoop him into a separate tank to study him was likely to get soaked. Squirt had a notoriously accurate aim.
As a comparative psychologist, I’m used to assaults from my experimental subjects. I’ve been stung by bees, pinched by crayfish, and battered by indignant pigeons. But, somehow, it felt different with Squirt. As he eyed us with his W-shaped pupils, he seemed clearly to be plotting against us.
