“Our time together is ending,” I said to Zippy. “Other people want the chance to meet you and show you around.”

“Where shall we go for our final hurrah?” Zippy asked, unfolding the subway map.

“Let’s go to Central Park,” I said. “It’s one of my favorite places in all of New York. I can’t show you the whole thing, but we can visit some beautiful landmarks.”

“You won’t force me to run the 6-mile loop around the park, correct?” Zippy suspiciously asked.

“No,” I said, smiling. “But I’d be mighty impressed if you ever decide to take on the couch to 5K plan. I think your owner, Doc Rob, is doing just that. I’m pretty sure you’d be the first lobster to run a 5K.”

“Running is for vertebrates,” Zippy opined. “I just don’t have the backbone to do it.”

“That is Bethesda Terrace,” I said. “This is one of the grandest locations in the entire park.”

Zippy and I walked down the sweeping staircase…

… and admired the large fountain in the center of the courtyard.

After I had taken this photograph of Zippy, a trio of tourists asked me to take a photo of them. One of them handed me a camera and, noticing that I went to retrieve Zippy, she asked, “Did you just take a photograph of that lobster?”

“Yes,” I said.

All three of them started giggling. While dangling from my wrist, Zippy rolled his eyes.

“As if people have never seen a lobster in Central Park before,” he muttered.

After the tourists left, we looked across the water at the Boathouse.

“That’s a place where people can rent rowboats and paddle around the lake,” I said. “It’s also a restaurant. People hold fancy functions there.”

“I don’t need a boat,” Zippy countered. “I have my own swimmerets. Such is the advantage of being a crustacean.”

We walked along a paved path, past many park benches with leafy trees overhead, and into a clearing.

“This,” I said, “is the Bow Bridge.”

“Romance blooms here,” Zippy said.

We walked further along the path and scrambled down onto a large rock by the water.

“Why are you taking a photograph of that?” Zippy asked when he heard the shutter click.

“That’s the Balcony Bridge,” I said. “I’ve run over that bridge many times. That’s also where The Beau proposed marriage to me.”

“Bah, marriage,” Zippy sourly said. “Monogamy is overrated. Humans are much more sentimental than lobsters. We lobsters mate with as many lady lobsters we can find. Did I ever tell you that I’m an alpha male lobster? Before I came here—”

“Maybe I should have lobster for dinner tonight,” I interrupted.

“—but I’ve learned that there is value to committed relationships,” Zippy hastily added.

“Have people donated money towards my cause?” Zippy asked as we walked claw and hand through the park. Taxis were rushing past on the street; tourists with large cameras dangling around their necks strolled past; the ice cream stands were already attracting business.

“Yes,” I said, pleased. “Several people have been following your adventures here in New York and they have contributed to your fund!”

“Delightful!” Zippy said. “That people are willing to extend themselves to contribute to the Childhood Brain Tumor Foundation is humbling. What people will do for a lobster continues to impress me. I can hardly imagine the possibilities!”

“But let’s keep imagining, Zippy,” I said. “Let’s keep imagining.”

Zippy will be leaving me very soon so Margaret Polaneczky at The Blog That Ate Manhattan may host him. Many thanks to those readers who have already contributed to Zippy’s cause—you raised $175 to the Childhood Brain Tumor Foundation. Can we break $225? That would bring a thrill to both Zippy and me. Please donate. And thanks for reading.

Zippy looks out at the Manhattan skyline. The tall building near his right claw is the Empire State Building. In the foreground is Calvary Cemetery, one of the oldest and largest cemeteries in the United States. There are a lot of grave markers there.

You may also notice that Zippy’s left claw is larger than his right. Thus, his left claw appears to be the crusher claw. Lobsters develop asymmetrical claws as they mature. If Zippy was a baseball pitcher, he’d be labeled a southclaw.

To prevent further terrible puns, please help Zippy raise money for the Childhood Brain Tumor Foundation. Zippy thanks the four people who have already generously extended their own claws and tossed a few clams his way! (clack clack)

When we emerged from the subway station, Zippy shielded his eyes from the bright afternoon sun.

“Is that the famed Art Deco landmark, the tallest building in New York?” Zippy asked.

“Yes,” I said, snapping a photo of him as a few people in dark suits hurried past, casting disbelieving eyes on the talking lobster. “That is the Empire State Building.”

“But we are over ten blocks away from 34th Street and 5th Avenue,” Zippy commented after glancing at the street signs.

“It’s a tall building,” I explained. “The top of the spire is 1,454 feet off of the ground. That’s like 2,900 of you lined up from cephalothorax to tail.”

“Wow,” Zippy said. “I don’t think I could even survive under 1,454 feet of water!”

I’m not even sure how you survive outside of a moist environment, I thought.

“Why is no one on the grass?” Zippy asked, stretching out in the shade.

“I’m not sure,” I said, noticing the wire surrounding the lawn. “I think they want the grass to grow out a bit before the summer events happen here at Bryant Park. There was an ice skating rink here not that long ago.”

Zippy had already dashed off of the stone ledge, however, and was scuttling his way over to the fountain.

“I need to periodically visit something that resembles my natural habitat,” he commented, jumping into the water.

After a few laps around the fountain, a glass of chardonnay (it pairs well with lobster…), and a hot dog, Zippy and I walked around the block to view the library.

“What?” Zippy exclaimed. “Why is the library shrouded in… plastic?”

We both frowned. The library was indeed covered in a tarp and surrounded by scaffolding.

“I guess they’re doing some renovations,” I said. “That’s too bad. It’s a beautiful building.”

“Yes! How I wanted to gaze upon the grandeur of the library! To witness the fine architecture! To see, with my own convex retinas, the venue where Carrie was to originally wed Mr. Big!” Zippy exclaimed.

“Patience, patience,” I mumbled to myself, walking south.

“What? What?” Zippy asked, clacking his claws. “Lobsters watch Sex in the City, too.”

“No, I was referring to this lion,” I said, placing him on the plant.

“During the Great Depression,” I continued after I took the photo, “the mayor of New York named the lions in front of the library. That lion was nicknamed ‘Patience’. The other lion was nicknamed ‘Fortitude’. The mayor hoped that people would cultivate these qualities to help get them through the rough economic times.”

“That lion must be patient to tolerate a pigeon on his head,” Zippy chortled.

We climbed the steps and, after the security guard looked through my bag and asked Zippy to open his claws, Zippy whispered, “This place is gorgeous.”

I nodded silently in agreement. To prevent his clattering from disturbing the peace, I picked him up and we climbed two flights of stairs to the main reading room.

“This place,” I breathed, “makes me want to become a scholar. I feel smarter just being in this room.”

Zippy gazed at the high, painted ceilings and the chandeliers hanging down. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the large windows.

Zippy quietly tapped a claw against my shoulder.

“I should secure a book about childhood brain tumors. That’s my fundraising cause,” he whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back. As we left the reading room, people gave Zippy quizzical looks: Lobsters study here, too?

“Has anyone donated any money yet?” Zippy asked.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

“Maybe if you took better pictures, people would be more likely to donate,” Zippy commented.

I quickly opened my bag and stuffed him inside. He laughed.

Zippy and I were swimming upstream against the swarm of tourists when we emerged from the subway station. As Zippy posed for a photo, a man looked at us warily while he took a drag from his cigarette.

Though the buildings in the financial district loomed over us, it was a relatively shorter church that caught Zippy’s eye.

“What is that? A religious institution nestled amongst these financial edifices?”

“Yes, Zippy,” I said, wondering how an arthropod could have such a well developed English vocabulary. Did he speak like this in his native tongue? Had he also mastered Tamil while he was in India? “That is Trinity Church. It is one of the oldest churches in the country. That is actually the third rebuilding of the church; the first church was built in 1698. So it’s actually older than the United States.”

“Photography is not your forte, is it,” Zippy said as he looked at the photograph I had captured.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. “Look, the sun is behind you, there are people trying to get around me, and—”

“I was just making an observation,” he said. I, of course, knew he was correct.

We walked along Wall Street, his claws clacking loudly as we made our way against the tide of people. The crowds looked at him resting on my shoulder and wisely gave us a wide berth.

“There,” I said, “is the New York Stock Exchange. It is the world’s largest stock exchange and billions of dollars are traded there every day.”

“It’s a patriotic institution, isn’t it,” Zippy commented. “It is my understanding that much of America is actually irate with large businesses on the Stock Exchange. Many individuals believe they were financially misled and that these agents behaved in an irresponsible fashion—”

“Yes,” I interrupted. “A lot of people are pissed at Wall Street. But it’s not fair to label all of them as selfish. Look at some of those day traders: They’re carrying boxes of pizzas around and they’re smoking like a pack of cigarettes on their 15 minute break. Some of them are just trying to make it, too.”

Zippy’s mandible opened slightly.

“What? Am I being too sympathetic again?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, scuttling forward without me.

“Now that’s Federal Hall,” I said, pointing at the building. “That was the site of the original capitol of the United States. That’s also where President George Washington took his oath when he became the first President. I don’t think that’s the actual building though; I think the original building was destroyed.”

“George Washington has shapely legs,” Zippy said. “Do you think he ate hot dogs? I can eat hot dogs, too, though I generally prefer worms.”

After a moment of silence, I said, “You’re weird.”

“Is everything in New York oversized?” Zippy asked. “Recall that oversized lobster in Times Square. All the buildings here seem larger than life. And now look at the size of this watch!”

“Some people in New York like their bling,” I said. “And they want everyone else to see their bling.”

“Perhaps you can select a souvenir for me from this fine establishment,” Zippy said.

“Uh, I don’t have that kind of money, Zippy,” I said. “I don’t even know if I could splurge on cubic zirconia for you.”

“Are you not employed as a shrink?” Zippy countered. “Don’t you have a lush private practice office somewhere on this wealthy island with your own designer analysis sofa so people can free associate and share the darkest secrets of their ids with you for a mere $600 per session?”

I laughed. “Not all shrinks work in cushy offices on Park Avenue,” I explained. “Though many shrinks here do have their own private practice in New York City, I’m not one of them. I’ve chosen to work with people in, uh, lower socioeconomic strata. That’s just my preference.”

“Ah,” the lobster replied. “Do you think that people reading about my visit here have the means to donate a dollar or two towards my fundraising efforts?

“I don’t know,” I honestly replied. “But! I can say that if everyone who follows you on Twitter or follows me on Twitter donated one dollar each, we would surpass the $2000 mark on your donation page.”

“That would be splendid!” Zippy said, wiggling his swimmerets.

“It’s about time you let me out of your bag,” Zippy dryly remarked. “I was getting the impression that you were feeling embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“It’s not that I feel embarrassed,” I shot back, “I just… don’t want to lose you. I’d feel terrible if you got lost in New York City.”

“Well, whatever,” Zippy replied. “Let’s go to Times Square. I’ll even sit over here, by myself, so no one will associate you with me.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said, picking him up. “Yes, I do feel a little strange carrying a lobster around, but if it’s for a good cause, I shan’t feel shame.”

Zippy didn’t smile, but I think he did turn a deeper shade of red. He clicked his claws with satisfaction.

When we got off the subway at Times Square, his tail was wagging.

“How do you do that?” I asked, perplexed. “You don’t have joints that allow lateral movement.”

“You’re vexed that I wag my tail, but you’re not at all concerned that I talk?” Zippy said, with plenty of snark in his voice. “Just take a photo.”

Zippy pulled me along the platform, though suddenly stopped in front of the subway map.

“I want to orient myself,” he said. “I like to know where I am in space. I want to ensure that there are no pots of boiling water nearby.”

“Uh, okay,” I said, taking a photograph in an effort to change the topic of conversation.

“‘You are here’,” he read, his exoskeleton tapping the hard surface of the map. “I understand that the MTA will be releasing an updated subway map sometime this month.”

“Yes, you’re right,” I said. “How did you hear about this?”

“All refined lobsters read The New York Times,” he sniffed. “There was an article about subway maps late last month. I hold great fondness for modes of public transportation and was fascinated to learn about New York City subway cartography.”

I turned my head, ostensibly to cough, though I was really rolling my eyes. Goodness.

“I don’t see any pornography here,” Zippy remarked as he looked around Times Square. “I see… many advertisements.”

“Times have changed, Zippy,” I said, trying to position him so that I could safely take a photograph of him without fear of someone grabbing him and running.

“Indeed,” he continued. “Times Square suffered a significant decline for many decades following the Great Depression. With the current recession, I have concerns that Manhattan will once again plunge into seediness.”

“Let’s take another photo,” I hastily said.

“Did you capture the site of the New Year’s Eve ball drop?” he asked.

“No,” I sighed. It’s above the Toshiba sign. “I don’t want to lay on the ground to take that photo.”

His articulated appendages clacked with displeasure. Ignoring that, I picked him up and started walking south. Zippy’s eyebrows (yeah, I know, I know…) arched with curiosity.

“See that?” I said, pointing across the street.

“The burritos are better in California,” Zippy commented. “Why eat at Chipotle when you can eat at—”

“No, not that,” I said. “Below that sign.”

Zippy’s eyes widened and his antennae twitched. He began to drag me across the street.

“Behold the size of that lobster!” Zippy cried. “Shouldn’t this behemoth be at the Museum of Natural History?”

We both gazed at the rotating red lobster. Mobs of people—some tourists, some hipsters, some chain-smoking executives—swirled past us.

“Wow,” Zippy finally breathed. “And I thought I was impressive.”

“You are,” I said, noting his dejection. “You’re cuter.”

“Yeah?” Zippy said, his tail beginning to wag. “Cute enough to do some fundraising?”

“I hope so,” I said.

… during those two weeks, Zippy arrived in New York, though he (it?), unfortunately, sat in a box for nearly a week before I properly received him.

As an astute reader, you might be wondering, “Who or what is this ‘Zippy’?”

I’m glad you asked.

As per Zippy’s website, Zippy is “a lobster on a mission” with two objectives:

1. to see the world and experience all that a lobster can.
2. to help people… [through] trying to raise money for brain cancer research.

Zippy is a charitable lobster, you see—though no one has donated any money towards Zippy’s cause since September of last year! This would cause any creature, with a backbone or not, to feel demoralized.

Undaunted, Zippy has nonetheless come to New York with hopes that his sightseeing will induce people to give a dollar or two towards the health of vertebrates. Generosity knows no phyla boundaries.

Thus, let me introduce you to Zippy:

He is about the length and width of a standard paperback novel. Accompanying him were a stack of stickers. He did not travel with the quarter; it is merely there for size comparison.

Zippy also has a lot of accoutrements that he has collected throughout his travels. All of those items, except for the sunhat, were stuffed into that little brown sack.

Prior to his arrival here in New York, he was in the Pacific Northwest with Shadowfax. Though that region of the country is known for its density of Microsofties, Zippy apparently picked up an iPhone while he was there.

Zippy will be travelling around New York City and I shall faithfully photograph his visit. He’s never been here before and is slowly acclimating to the big city. Please show him that you’re following his adventures with a donation to his cause. Doing so will also significantly increase the likelihood that I will take photos of him in diverse settings in the city.

I bet you’ve never seen New York City through a lobster’s eyes. Now is your chance.

I had a very interesting stay with Jabulani.  I arrived in early December having been sent to England by @scanman.

Goodness me what a shock it was being taken out of my box.  I’d been enjoying the balmy warm in India only to find my shell turning blue with cold at Jabulani’s.  She assured me it was warm in her house; she even had the heating on!  Well, I was so cold, I spent my first night cuddled up with Baby Annabelle.  (Baby Annabelle is Jabulani’s daughter’s favourite doll. She was most accommodating.)

Afterwards, if I ever felt the cold, I crawled up with Jabulani’s cats – but only after we’d worked out that neither of us wanted to eat the other: claws can be such effective communicators…

Soon after I arrived, Jabulani and her 2 children got busy with Christmas preparation.  It’s like a military exercise in her house: decorations are taken out, presents are made, cards are written, all sorts of goodies are baked and cooked and wrapped…it smelled wonderful.  I had a great time decorating the tree, packing the hampers, wrapping presents – although sticky tape is very frustrating stuff.  I kept getting my claws in the wrong place and had to be rescued on several occasions.

I also cooked with Jabulani’s children.  They do quite a lot of the preparation; do you know, they even use the sharp knives!  I didn’t think young children were allowed to do that in England, but Jabulani swore me to secrecy.  Well, who will know?  You guys won’t tell, will you?  The pasta sauce was delicious.

Just after the Christmas rush, as if it wasn’t cold enough, along came the snow.  Jabulani told me she hadn’t seen snow that bad in all her time in England (nearly 20 years).  She loves it, strange woman, but that’s because she’s a South African who encountered snow for the first time 20 years ago when she lived in Boston, Mass.  She says that in snow-years, she’s only 20, so she’s allowed to be excited by it.  We were snowed in at her house for 5 days because they live surrounded by woods and all the roads are on hills.  I didn’t see a single snow plow around her way but eventually the snow melted. Even the schools were closed!  I wasn’t thrilled when she put me outside in the snow to take this picture for my blog!!

After the snow had melted, we took a trip down to the local Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust.  They have migratory birds come from all over the place, as well as some rare breeds whose numbers they are trying to build up in breeding programmes.  It was a fascinating place, though I did get a little too close to some of the residents!

Fortunately I was quickly rescued and introduced to some of the less dangerous English wildlife.

A couple of weeks ago, Jabulani and her family went on holiday.  They went to a World Heritage Site in Shropshire: Ironbridge. It’s where the Birth of Industry happened.  It’s a fascinating place if you like history and an added benefit is there’s lots of wonderful things for children (and lobsters!) to do.  For anyone unfamiliar with Ironbridge, this is what it is:

The world’s first-ever bridge made from cast iron, built in 1779 and still standing.  It’s quite pretty actually.  Here I am right in the middle of the bridge looking down the gorge.

Then, when you’ve gazed at it in awe, you must rejuvenate yourself thus:  Latte and coffee walnut cake. Not as good as Jabulani’s own, but good enough on a cold day when you’ve been walking miles.

A couple of other things I did while in Shropshire:  At the Victorian Town museum, I sat on some slag (that’s the waste product of iron casting).  It reminded me of the rock formations in the ocean; I felt quite at home.

I ate good old English fish and chips

helped Jabulani make a tile of her trademark gerbera at the tile museum

which looked like this once it had been fired.

I met 4 dogs who were holding up a marble table.  Poor things didn’t say much and hadn’t been for a walk in ages!

and I got to play in the water at the Enginuity Museum.

On the way back home, the family took a little detour to the Jurassic coastline in Weymouth, Dorset.  They went to see Chesil Beach which Jabulani’s husband remembered visiting as a child.  They took me along and let me frolic in the sea water.  I wish they hadn’t; it was freezing cold and blowing a gale.  I had to get Jabulani to wrap me in her socks inside her boots to warm me up. I stayed there for hours too.  At least I got warm!

And so came the time to move on.  Jabulani tells me that @movinmeat has said he will host me in Seattle.  He’s to shave his head for St Baldrick’s charity.  You can read about it here.  I wanted to take some gifts with me to Seattle and since I’m in one of the countries finest medieval towns, I wanted castle mementoes.  Of course, the Castle is closed until 1^st April, but Jabulani explained who I was and the perfectly charming lady, Libby, said she would meet us there.  I’ve heard Jabulani saying to her children throughout my stay here that a little politeness and good manners goes a long, long way.  I must say, having seen it in action, I’m inclined to agree.  My enormous thanks to Libby for her kindness.  She even let me look at the swords which otherwise say “Please do not touch”.

I wanted to purchase one for @movinmeat for those difficult shifts in the ER, but Jabulani said the airline wouldn’t allow it.  Such spoilsports.  I think he’d have found it a very useful gift… And so I leave England.  I’ve had an awesome time here, or as Jabulani would say in her best borrowed English accent, “It’s been perfectly splendid to accommodate you old chap.  I wish you a very comfortable trip.” As she smothered me with more tissue paper, shut me in the dark and stuck 2.5m of packing tape on the box!  Well I won’t be getting out of here in a hurry.  @movinmeat’s gonna need that sword to rescue me… mind you, he probably has access to a scalpel!

She did say one thing though just before she closed the box which has confused me mightily.  She said “When you meet him, tell him immediately you’re allergic to lemon and butter.”  I’m totally flummoxed.  What on earth can she mean??

I’m a free Lobster.

I’m still in India and I can take care of myself.

I am just trapped.  Help!

scanman’s got a nice car…

… but it’s built funny though. The driver’s seat is on the wrong side of the car…

…and the Indians drive on the wrong side of the road!!

Some of the roads in Salem are dangerous, with potholes, under repair with piles of stones and of course crazy traffic…

Most cars have some sort of religious icon in them. Probably to safeguard the people on these dangerous roads. scanman has a neat statue of the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesha in his car…

I was curious about these yellow cab like three-wheeled vehicles with what looked like tent roofs,

scanman told me they are autorickshaws, called auto(s) and are found all over the place. They are the most common form of taxi available. I got to sit in one…

the friendly auto-driver even let me sit in his seat and experience the driver’s-eye view…

I saw a lot of bikes and scooters. Dr.P has one that she rides to work on…

Personally, I feel a lot more comfortable in a bicycle basket