My hermit crab, Cinnamon Roll, has died. I'm sure I'm seen as irrational for crying over him. Or her. But the crab was important to me. I don't have any means to put it in the ground, so it's been waiting in a polka-dotted box I filled with sand, the plastic tree it liked to shred, its cuttlebone for chewing, and a piece of croissant. I sealed
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