You may recall the
tale of the lizard that Annie the cat brought into my house in late May (the tail came separate and wound up in my trash can when I found her playing with it).
The rest of the lizard was last seen on June 1, spotted under the boarded up grate of the old floor heater.
He vanished as I tried to catch him to get him outdoors, slipping up into a crack near the baseboard.
Weeks, months go by. No sighting.
He must have gotten out on his own or died under the floorboards, I figured.
So there I am lying in bed reading the other day, home sick and recuperating from a cold. I hadn't seen Annie in a while, but she's in and out of the doggie door a lot these days, enjoying the wilderness of the backyard.
I hear her come into the room with an especially plaintive "meowwwww" announcing her presence.
Up she jumps onto the bed. There is something in her mouth, I notice, something dangling. .... What is that?
She drops the (very) live lizard right onto my bed and he slithers quickly under the covers next to me. I spring off the bed, defying gravity in record time.
I hadn't moved that fast all week.
Annie then bats him off the bed, playing hockey with him into the hallway where he takes refuge behind a tall bookcase. No problem. She reaches her paw behind the piece of furniture and flings him out, tossing him skyward. He lands in the bathroom doorway and coils up in the corner, giving Annie a wide-mouthed hisssss.
Annie lies down and studies him, patiently biding her time. They both sit there, staring at one another. Annie is looking quite pleased. The lizard, not so much. But he is putting up a valiant front, his jaws open wide as a threat.
Meanwhile I've retrieved a plastic bowl and lid. I'm determined this time to catch the lizard and get him back outside in one piece.
As I plot my strategy, he unknowingly decides to make my job easy.
He uncoils himself (he was really quite long, considering he had just a nub of a tail left) and slowly and deliberately walks out of the corner of my tiny bathroom. He bravely slinks across the bathroom rug, moving directly toward Annie who continues to study the curious creature in anticipation.
The lizard then crawls right into one of my shoes that was lying on its side in the bathroom, just inches away from the watching cat.
Curled up and facing outward from the shoe opening, the lizard hisses once more at Annie. (I say hisses, but I couldn't actually hear it.)
I grab a nearby rolled-up sock and gently stuff it on top of the reptile, carrying him (still in the shoe) out to the front porch. Finally he is set free from his months-long captivity under the watch of the wicked cat. He vanishes quickly, never (we hope) to be seen again.
Annie, of course, was bummed.
I wish Mr. Lizard a long life -- and a new tail.
I trust he's happily munching on my garden plants by now, regaling the grandreptiles with his daring tale of survival and his Great Escape from Annie's House of Horrors.
Daily Breeze reporter Donna Littlejohn has shared her homes with a succession of wonderful, funny, and occasionally difficult canines -- Muffin, Fritz, Ellie, Mercy, Pilgrim and now Cowboy, an Australian shepherd-border collie, and Tess, a border collie. From strong-willed terriers to weirdly obsessed Australian shepherds, they've invaded her world with boundless energy, wet noses, muddy paws and soggy tennis balls. But they've really brought so much more than that -- like laughter and joy, some unexpected life lessons, and more than a few tears along the way.
Josh Grossberg grew up with the usual array of animals: goldfish, dogs, hamsters, parakeets and turtles. He now owns the loudest dog in the South Bay(Video: Rocket the Dog) and is the least popular person on his block. He spends his free time in dog parks, pet shops and always has an extra plastic bag in his pocket just in case. He also has a cat.
Great story!