Several years ago, when staff at the National Aquarium of New Zealand were getting ready for the day, they noticed something fishy. Two Maori octopuses, named Inky and Blotchy, usually shared a tank. But that morning, Blotchy was all alone—Inky had mysteriously disappeared. The only clue was a wet trail leading from the tank to a nearby drainpipe. By the look of it, Inky had squirmed through a tiny opening at the top of the tank, crawled 2.4 meters (8 feet) across the floor, and wiggled down the narrow pipe that led to the ocean.
The breakout was no surprise to scientists who study octopuses. The animals are known for making bold escapes and causing mischief in captivity. Wild octopuses are no different, says Jennifer Mather. She’s a psychologist who studies animal behavior at the University of Lethbridge in Canada. Forty years ago, Mather was diving off the coast of Bermuda when she saw a common octopus do something she’d never seen before. It scuttled out of its rocky den and used one of its eight long arms to pick up a rock. It brought the rock back to the den and then left to grab more rocks. The octopus lined up the rocks to form a wall in front of the den’s opening before curling up inside. “That was my ‘aha’ moment,” remembers Mather. “Octopuses are smart!”