Eva and I

 I couldn't stand the boredom anymore. I was about to run away, just like that fellow at the New Zealand National Aquarium did. But then she arrived; the very incarnation of Diana the Huntress, the Goddess of the Woods: athletic, tanned skin, and hair the color of sunshine.

Eva was doing her doctorate in Marine Biology, with a research on the intelligence of cephalopods. When we met, the interaction with was almost non-existent, limiting herself to swimming around me in the pond, observing me carefully all the time. Then we started comunicating each other through sign language, and after that playing chess, which I had already learned by watching my caregiver play it.

The tango thing was love at first sight, or at first hearing, properly speaking. So, that day when Eva got into the pond while music by Piazzola was playing, I could not contain myself, and leaving all manners, I approached her, placed two of my arms on her shoulders, another two on her hips, and I started to dance.

People say that octopuses have no rhythm. I disagree. And well, now Eva and I also dance chachachá.

Translated from Spanish by S. Palomeque