Damn! There’s a lizard in the kitchen. A little gecko I could easily deal with, but a lizard? He’s at least two feet long. Of course, I’m home alone. Where in the heck is the husband when you really need him?
I find the broom and dustpan, although what I expect to do with them is a mystery as the only bit of the lizard that might rest comfortably on the dustpan is his head and front legs. Nor can I simply direct him out the door with the broom as for some unknown (read mysterious Mexican architectural construction) reason, there is a step up, in this appartment we are renting, from the kitchen to the stairs which then lead down to ground level.
Nevertheless, I must do something. I swish the broom at the lizard; a totally ineffectual move. This is when our cat, Chili, decides to come off the bed and enter the fray. She makes a lunge at the lizard, ignoring the fact that it is twice as long as she is.
The lizard disappears through a hole in the side of the cupboard. Why is there a hole in the side of the cupboard? To run the gas line through to the stove. I happen to know we have nothing in that cupboard so I gingerly open the door to see where the lizard is. Chili, not to be left out, scoots into the cupboard. I see the lizard’s head come out the hole. Good! Now I can shoo him out the door. But, he stops. Doesn’t move. What the…?
I peer into the cupboard to see that Chili has her paw firmly on his tail, effectively trapping him half in and half out of the cupboard. I quietly tell (make that yell) at Chili to let go. Fortunately she listens and lifts her paw. The lizard wisely exits. I sink onto a kitchen chair, heart pounding a little faster than normal. Chili licks her paw, saunters past me and hops back onto the bed.
And that’s the moment my husband walks in with a cheery greeting. Great timing, he has.