I maimed a baby lizard tonight. When I say baby lizard, I mean a gelatinous gray creature whose full length was shorter than my little finger. And when I say maimed, I mean I think I squished his leg off when I stepped on him.


I have nothing against lizards. In fact, I quite like them. They eat other pesky insects, they don't smell and they don't look disgusting. My mother feeds a family of lizards that lives outside her kitchen window, so maybe that's where I get it from --- despite the fact that when I was a child, a lizard leaped onto my hand and left a distinctly cold, clammy footprint (lizardprint?) that gave me the creeps for days afterwards.

In my defense, I didn't see the little lizard tonight. I stepped out of the toilet, was walking across to the living room, and something went squish below my right foot. I flicked on the light, to see the creature miserably trying to limp off. T picked it up with a tissue, gave me a hard look, then went to put down the rubbish chute. I stood around, feeling shitty.

Poor little lizard.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]