Invasion of the critters aided and abetted by the rescue kitten

Yes, you read correctly. This sweet, innocent looking little kitten, a scrawny bit of body on legs when we found her in an empty lot in December,



is responsible for the influx of critters which occurs each night just before we are about to go to bed.

She drags in bugs of various sorts, most of which we have never seen before. They are alive and squirming. One of us has to capture the cat while the other, with broom and dustpan, encourages the critter to come along for a ride to the garden where, hopefully, the cat will not find it again. At least not until tomorrow.

Then there are the geckos and lizards, some of which are at least half the kitten’s length. Holding these critters captive with a paw firmly planted on their tails, we once again are forced into rescue mode. “I really wish they didn’t move quite so fast,” I mutter as I wield the broom.

And let us not forget the frogs. Tiny babies a week ago, the evidence of their growth is obvious as the latest contributions of dear rescue cat are now an inch long. Soon they’ll be the size of the palm of your hand and we’d be really really happy not to have them inside.

For more about frogs in the house in rainy season Mexico.







Yet another encounter with the critters


Chili, the cat, sits in the kitchen focused on the stove. She’s so intent that not even Whiskas treats can tempt her away from her lookout post. Any other time she’s like the cat in the ad when it comes to Whiskas, so we know something is up.

We note that each time her tail, with its broken tip, swishes, we also hear funny clicking sounds from under the stove. We need to investigate.

We pull the stove half-out carefully as it’s gas and we don’t want to damage the line. We peer over the back and sure enough there’s a black lizard, body bent at a 90 degree angle, huddled in the corner. And he or she has amassed a stash of cat and dog food. Neither pet is around of course, just when we need them to be on rousting duty.

photo courtesy Christina Stobbs

He prods the lizard with a broom. It shifts position. Okay, definitely alive. We’ve heard that black lizards bite so this might be a little more dangerous than the usual lizard encounters. Wearing a pair of heavy leather gloves (he calls them)/gauntlets (I say), he reaches down to grab the lizard by the tail. But it eludes him and scurries under the fridge.

We pull out the fridge. No lizard. Okay, then he’s under the fridge. A poke with the broom handle sends the lizard into the bottom shelf of the cupboard. Now what? I fetch a box. If we can get it over the lizard (a method we have experience with), we can carry him out to the empty lot at the end of the block.

That day the bottom shelf has bags of dog food, dog dishes, some groceries, and empty bags for garbage. The lizard is ensconced within this mélange.

Still wearing the leather gloves, he pokes with the broomstick and pulls it out with a plastic bag hanging over the end.

“It’s heavy. What have you got in here?”

“Those were all empty.”

The bag moves.

“Yahoo, we’ve got him.”

The bag goes into the box. The box gets carried to the empty lot. And, happy ending, the lizard is set free.

Photo Courtesy of Christina Stobbs

See also: A Lizard in the Kitchen –

A Lizard in the Kitchen

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.