The turtle I inherited from my mother is doing pretty great. I’m in the process of building him (I just default to calling things “him” if the sex is nonexistent or ambiguous) a really great, though painfully geeky, aquarium environment. We’ve decided to name him Roosevelt in an attempt to offset the very undignified way in which he will be living.
Although, I’m pretty sure anything would be better than his temporary setup of a beach towel on top of an old log-shaped aquarium ornament and one sad bubble stone. And that setup was likely better than his setup at my mom’s place because she didn’t realize he was aquatic at all. He was just living in sand.
He doesn’t seem to be growing at all, but he’s definitely getting a personality. He frantically claws at the front of the aquarium in the mornings when we feed him and will follow our hands or the food container around. He also tends to play in the bubbles and give himself bubble beards.
I love him, eventhough he’s a turtle and doesn’t know what love is.
crossposted from fuzzdecay.com.