The Lizard

My yard, should you choose to believe it, is quite the wild kingdom. All .25 acres of it.

We've got these huge black bumble bees, flies--house, dragon, & butter--and spiders of all sorts. There's the occasional rat, you know, in the grill, or dashing behind the garden shed. We have all kinds of birds including a coven murder of crows. Yeah. A freaking coven murder of crows. Although, to be truthful, mostly they stay at the neighbors. There are worms, snails, and these weird creepy bugs called silverfish that live under our doormat. 

And then there are there lizards.

The lizards are funny. Sometimes they sit on top of the fence or on a bench doing these adorable little lizard pushups. Sometimes they chase each other under the teak table. Sometimes they just sun themselves on the sandstone slabs.

You know. Lizard stuff.

But the other day I was cutting through the garage, taking out the trash. Literally, taking out the trash. Not a euphemism of any kind. And when I opened the garage door, this gigantic lizard--maybe like a gila monster baby, if those are only about eight inches long--but seriously, gigantic when placed next to my bare foot--dashed into the garage, nearly knocking me over as it swerved past me on its way to Hank-knows-where.

That lizard had been lying in wait.

Now, I did what I always do under these circumstances. I called Mr. Poppins. Texted him. And called him again.

He was in a meeting. I used the word emergency. After all the lizard, so far as I could tell, was still hiding out in the garage. Where I park my car. Not that I planned on going anywhere at that particular moment. But eventually I would want to go somewhere. Maybe. And when that happened, I would need a plan.

Mr. Poppins was not nearly as impressed by the gravity of my situation as you might have expected. Now, you probably didn't expect much. But, I assure you, this was way less than that. He just didn't even care.

In an effort to impress upon my darling husband the extreme and vicious nature of the aforementioned lizard, I said, "I always knew I had my own personal serial killer stalking me, waiting for me to let my guard down, but I never expected that he would be so small and so green."

Mr. Poppins chuckled and told me to leave the garage door open in case the lizard wanted to leave, which, as far as I'm concerned would be all well and good. But what if the lizard wanted to stay. And invite friends.

I did not approve of that scenario at all. And yet, what else was there to do but chance it?

A week later, and I'm still not at peace with the situation, I have no evidence that the lizard, in all his menacing wickedness, has left or that he hasn't got a coven murder of evil creatures gathered waiting to attack and, you know, touch me on my skin. Or get stuck in my hair. Or clothes. Or any of any number of equally squeal-worthy scenarios.

Because this is how I like my nature: contained. And where I like my critters: at the zoo. And how I like my surprises: planned for.

I'm thinking that we need a web cam in the garage so that I can monitor the activity. Make sure the coast is clear. Whatever.

Comments

[The Dol]

Must be the week for lizards. I had the teenciest one evah in my house two days ago. I mean, like teency. Baby Doc captured it under a plastic cup and returned it to the wild.

Also, this is a funny little bit of trivia, but it's actually a murder of crows. Check out this list of collective nouns:
http://www.rinkworks.com/words/collective.shtml

[Polly Poppins]

Seriously? Mr. Poppins sent me an email about the murder, too. I mean, I knew that once upon a time, but I swear, I had no idea getting it wrong would cause a furor.

[Alice]

I wonder if you're kidding about the web cam?

[the aunt]

I love "touch me on my skin".