You remind me of an otter
Not any otter, but a particular one that I met. Well, more like observed.
I was at the aquarium. The kind jellyfish woman who added “oral arm” to my vocabulary also recommended the sea otter exhibit.
There were two otters. They were adorable. As opposed to the relative ineptitude of the jellies, the otters swam with an astounding effortlessness. They corkscrewed and played chase and crested out of the water like dolphins. One of them picked up a set of toy plastic keys and I wondered if it’d ever had trouble getting back into its apartment after a long night out.
After half an hour of horseplay in the water, one otter muscled up onto the rock shelf and laid out, basking under the lamps. The second otter soon followed. But the latter otter was restless. Its hands massaged its flippers and meticulously groomed its coat. This went on for what must have been ten or fifteen minutes, the first otter was nearly comatose nestled up against its buddy who was diligently tending to itself. Eventually the busy otter let up. Then it did what I least expected: it wiggled to the edge of the water and slid back in. For a moment the otter floated on its back, then it returned to its aquatic merriment. The other otter lifted its head up off the rock in curiosity, before promptly returning to its nap.
Some otters are busier than others.