The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

When Montgomery returns from her diving trip, the problem of where to put Kali becomes more pressing. She’s nearly as big as Octavia now and has outgrown her small tank. In order to let a sick fish recuperate in her tank, she’s temporarily moved to a larger one with a different water source and other fish, providing interaction with other animals. Montgomery explains that little is known about how octopuses relate to other sea creatures aside from hunting or being hunted. One thing is for certain: They can ascertain much information from their suckers alone, as their chemoreceptors have a range of 30 yards or more: “Perhaps,” Montgomery surmises, “Kali knows her tank mates’ species, their sex, their health” (156).

During one of her dives in the Caribbean, she saw some octopus behavior that she could not explain. An octopus had about a dozen crabs—its favorite food—on the sand in front of it, sort of collecting them in one area. If one wandered too far away, an arm would extend to gently corral it back. The crabs acted calmly, as if they sensed no danger. Furthermore, the octopus was a white color, also indicating a state of calm, rather than the red one would expect to see when it hunted. Without a definite explanation, Montgomery wonders if its ink had somehow drugged them. Octopus ink contains both oxytocin and dopamine, chemicals that could have made the crabs feel “happy and sated” (159).

Next, Montgomery discusses researchers’ understanding of octopus consciousness. Because its neurons are spread out between its brain and arms, it is quite possible that they have no central sense of self. Each arm may have a separate consciousness—for example, some may be shy while others are bold—almost as if each arm were a separate creature.

The week before Christmas that year, positive changes are occurring. Christa gets a part-time paid job at the aquarium, and Bill finally has a solution to Kali’s cramped living quarters. One thought had been to switch Octavia and Kali, but Bill thinks that would be too disturbing to elderly Octavia. Plus, her eggs are a good draw for aquarium visitors. Instead, when a large 90-gallon tank becomes available, they move Kali there. Special lids are created, held down with four vises and 80 extra pounds of dive weights on top for good measure. When Kali settles in, it’s clear that she is excited about the new environment, which she explores before surfacing to greet them all openly.

The next day, however, Montgomery gets a phone call from Scott saying that Kali is dead. She apparently squeezed her way through a small hole where a pipe recirculated water to her tank. Bill had stuffed it with a prickly screen-like material, which octopuses don’t like the feel of, and covered it over with a tarp—but it was not enough to deter a curious Kali.