I could just have easily called this post “Dancin’ on the Ceiling” but then I’d have to subject you to that Lionel Richie song and you’d hate me.
It seems that certain repitillian creatures have decided they really like my house. I don’t get this because I hate them. Normally in a relationship if one party hates the other, they generally have nothing to do with one another. But here we are. You see, apparently in Texas, there are tiny newts called salamanders (or geckos or whatever, it doesn’t matter, remember? I hate them). In the past one year and five days since I’ve lived here I have seen a grand total of four of them and they have all been outside. One of them, thought he was being cute, would walk up and down the large picture window in my kitchen every night at the same time, from the outside of course. Due to their relative scarcity and the fact that they scatter whenever a soul approaches I have come to a certain sense of detente with these disgusting little bimbos. You stay out there and run when I open the door and we’ll be just fine.
But in the past week my wife and I have both noticed a trend. Somehow, they’re getting inside the house. One here, another there. Oh they still run when I walk into the front hall (where they’ve chosen to hang out probably because of the cool tile floor) but the fact that they’ve breached my security system — which is specifically set to kill lizards — is alarming. Did you like that pun? “Security system”, “alarming”? Huh? I know, right?
Well tonight… Tonight one of these forked-tongue wagging spawns of satan did something that just takes the cake. Examine carefully the picture below.
Now look at the following picture…
What a nightmare. They must be stopped. The thing is they know I won’t touch them. My wife is all about getting a tissue and picking them up lovingly by the tail and placing them outside. Screw that. About as close as I get is 42 inches. Did you know that a standard baseball bat is 42 inches long? What a coincidence. And if you don’t believe me, yes I’m talking to you lizard-interloper!, just ask your little mouse friend.
Lesson here: If you’ve got leathery skin and a long tongue, stay out of my house. This, of course, excludes my nephew JJ.