Snapping shrimps overwhelm the casual but aurally cognisant visitor to tropical shores, who reliably seeks the source of incessant clicks but betrays doubt when told of the elusive percussionists. Thousands of snaps, cracks and pops may accompany the darkening hours of the day, when the alpheids declare their presence and pursuit of partners from burrows under sand and rubble.
The din would probably be worse were it not for the shrimps' obsession with housekeeping. Consumed by the urge to redecorate their chambers and retrofit their porte-cochère, individuals such as this small male at Big Sisters' Island discard their customary wariness and indulge in a fit of domestic passion that beguiles and bewilders. Rude ornaments are grasped and expelled, followed by an explosive whirr of swimmerets for good measure. The animals have unhelpful eyes, so a tactile sense of shape, size and aquatic scenery must guide this drive to pick and push away pebbles of objectionable character. There is no end to this labour, it seems, for the tides offer fresh decor at every turn, compelling the shrimp to reconsider daily its interior selections and choose between a life that's neat or nearly on the rocks.
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