To those less cultured, the term “crab cakes” can be very misleading. I did not grow up going to parties on yachts, so you can imagine my surprise when, at the age of twenty-two, I bit into my first crab cake at a friend’s house. My mouth was instantly filled with the salty mush that has haunted my dreams ever since. Where was the sugar? Where was the fun? I had been tricked!

When I was a child, I thought Red Lobster was the pinnacle of fine dining. Without much effort, I developed what I like to call “white-trash taste buds.” I put ketchup on nearly everything, and believed Miracle Whip lives up to its name. So when I heard the word “cake,” I expected something sweet.

Now, as an adult, I have the pleasure of making my own rules. It’s the best part of growing up. You can right what you see as wrong and handcraft a life to your choosing. In the world I’ve made for myself, the animals talk, the birds clean house—and the crabs really are cake!

DISCLAIMER: If your animals are talking to you, please seek emergency services.