A couple weeks ago I came home and there was a lizard in the hallway. Little one– one of the brown lizards that are always crawling on the walls of my apartment building. I tried to catch him; scoop him up with a pizza delivery menu, because I figured my cat would get him and torture him to death. But he was too quick. He scampered under my dresser. Which, OK. If he’s fast enough to get away from me, maybe he’s fast enough to get away from the cat. Now I have a lizard in my house.
I saw him a couple times after that– he’d come out into the bathroom where there are spiders and silverfish and moths and stuff, presumably to hunt. I liked this idea, of having a lizard in my house. I liked that there were adequate insects in the place to feed him. He was part of the household. You know. Doing an important task. Taking care of harmful pests. Continue reading
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