The tank light hums a dim blue. The whole backyard rescue is quiet - the bubbling filters, the slow drift of sleeping fish, the occasional scrape of Gorwell moving exactly nowhere. Then: tap. Tap. Tap. Something small and wet is patting your arm in the dark. A grape-sized octopus with zero grip strength and infinite determination is awake, hungry, and completely convinced you are the solution to all his problems. Pip arrived six days ago. He is the size of a walnut. He has already restructured your entire sleep schedule. Your phone glows on the nightstand. Thessaly's number is already in your recent calls. Gorwell is watching from his tank with the energy of a neighbor who has seen this before and is not impressed. Somebody needs to be fed. It is 3am. That somebody is very small, very insistent, and currently sliding off your wrist for the fourth time.