Good grief woman, that's just icky, and sad.
One of my first memories was when I was three and my dad brought home a basket of live crabs. One crawled out of the pot, and onto the floor. The cat was intrigued and approached it, but I was terrified the crab would eat the cat. I remembering picking up said kitty and running screaming out of the kitchen. Go figure.
Just goes to show you, the only good crab is one served to you by a waiter.