Soul of an Octopus

01The First Touch of an Alien

Stepping into the damp, dimly lit backstage of an aquarium is like crossing the threshold into another universe. Here, amidst the steady, rhythmic hum of water pumps and the sharp, brine-laced scent of ocean salt, a profound interspecies friendship begins. For Sy Montgomery, a writer who had previously tracked gorillas in Africa and swam with pink dolphins in the Amazon, the desire to meet a giant Pacific octopus was born out of a deep fascination with the unknown. Octopuses are, in many ways, the closest things we have to alien life on Earth. Their evolutionary lineage diverged from ours over half a billion years ago. We share practically nothing in common with them physically; they have no bones, they possess three hearts, their blood is driven by copper rather than iron making it literally blue, and their brain is wrapped around their throat. Yet, despite this vast biological chasm, Sy was determined to see if a connection could be forged. The setting for this extraordinary encounter was the New England Aquarium in Boston. Guided by the aquarium staff, Sy stepped up to a large, open-topped barrel containing freezing, forty-seven-degree saltwater. Inside this unassuming tank lived Athena. As Sy leaned over the edge, the water rippled, and a creature of astonishing complexity rose to the surface. Athena’s head was roughly the size of a small melon, and her eyes—complex, highly developed, and remarkably expressive—locked onto Sy’s. There was an immediate, palpable sense of mutual observation. Sy was not just looking at an animal; an intelligent being was actively assessing her. Slowly, Sy plunged her hands and arms into the frigid water. Athena responded by extending her own arms, unfurling them like elegant, muscular ribbons. As the octopus’s tentacles wrapped around Sy’s skin, she felt the unmistakable sensation of hundreds of powerful, white suckers attaching to her flesh. The feeling was astonishing. It was not a mindless grabbing, but a deliberate, inquisitive exploration. What makes an octopus’s touch so uniquely profound is that their suckers are equipped with millions of sensory receptors. When an octopus touches you, it is simultaneously tasting you. Athena was literally tasting Sy’s skin, learning her chemical signature, and gathering complex data about this new human in her environment. As they interacted, Athena’s skin began to shift dramatically. Octopuses possess specialized cells called chromatophores, which allow them to change color and texture in a fraction of a second. As Athena engaged with Sy, her skin flushed a deep, vibrant red—a color often associated with excitement, curiosity, and engagement in octopuses. She pulled Sy gently but firmly, her immense strength evident even in this delicate interaction. It was a moment of pure, transcendent connection. Two entirely different branches of the tree of life were reaching across millions of years of evolution to simply say, "I see you." The emotional impact of this encounter was staggering for Sy. She realized that Athena was not operating on mere instinct. There was a distinct personality, a curious mind, and a gentle disposition radiating from the creature. The arms of an octopus contain more than half of their hundreds of millions of neurons, meaning that each arm literally has a mind of its own. When Athena touched Sy, it was a symphony of decentralized intelligence working in harmony to understand a new friend. However, the joy of this initial connection was tragically short-lived. Just a few weeks after they began to form this beautiful bond, Athena passed away suddenly. The shock of her death rippled through the aquarium staff and hit Sy with an unexpected, devastating force. It raised a confusing emotional question: how does one mourn an invertebrate? Society understands grieving a dog or a cat, but mourning a mollusk—a relative of the clam and the snail—seems incomprehensible to many. Yet, the grief Sy felt was absolute and undeniable. Athena’s passing was a harsh introduction to the reality of loving a giant Pacific octopus. Their lifespans are incredibly brief, usually lasting only three to four years. They live their lives with an intense, burning vitality, but they leave this world just as quickly. Athena’s death, while deeply painful, did not deter Sy; rather, it cemented her resolve to dive deeper into the world of these magnificent creatures.