I glanced that way, and it moved again -- a quick, fluid movement which momentarily looked like a snake scurrying away. Then I realized what it really was, and let out a nerve-wracking shriek.
Yes, I really did shriek -- like a little girl. I scared Mark half to death, poor guy. He looked at me quizzically, and I sounded another ear-splitting shriek.
"LIZARD!!!!"
Mark jumped back, equally frightened, then jumped into my arms. Where he found no solace, as I was visibly shaking myself.
I'm not normally scared of lizards, but then again, I don't usually find them in my house. That's right, indoors. In MY HOUSE. Crawling around in their creepy, snake-like lizardy ways. Yet here he was, breaking our unspoken human-lizard contract -- the one where I agree not to bother lizards in their homes if they agree not to bother me in mine.
But this was a little lizard, a baby one, and maybe he didn't know about the contract yet. So he slithered away toward the living room.
Mark was quietly freaking out; I had to take charge of the situation.
"We've gotta do something," I commanded in a shaky voice. Mark nodded, and did exactly as I've taught him to for any emergency -- he ran to the phone and called a much braver family member. He explained the situation to Uncle Brad.
Who is maybe not the most sympathetic member of my family...
I could hear Brad barking through the phone.
"Well, go catch that lizard!" he told Mark. "You're the man of the house, take care of it!"
Mark shook his head at the phone. Brad broke the silence, asking, "C'mon Mark, are you a man, or a little girl?"
Mark looked nervously at the scared little lizard and replied, "Um, both."
"You're a little girl?" Brad boomed back.
"No, I'm not a girl, but..." He trailed off. He didn't want to sound weak to his uncle, but he sure didn't want to catch that lizard, either. If manning up meant catching the lizard, then he wasn't quite ready to do that.
"Get a broom and a box, and catch him, Mark!" Brad thundered. "You can do it."
Mark realized no help was coming. He hung up the phone, took a deep breath and raced to the garage in search of a box. He was gone so long, I feared he wasn't coming back. And I'm not proud to admit that my biggest fear wasn't for my son's safety, but that the little rat had left me alone with a live lizard.
I grabbed a broom and stood guard over the lizard. When Mark returned with a plastic box, I tried to guide Lizzy toward it. Instead, the little guy slithered behind the armoire, and then under a giant subwoofer. Mark raced in after him, but was relieved not to find him.
"We'll build a trap!" Mark told me, tilting the box on its side. He grabbed a paper bag from the kitchen and set it on the ground as well. I was not convinced either trap would be very successful.
But I was wrong. Mark did catch a little critter -- our cat Frankie! Frankie thought the paper bag was a wonderful new toy, and spent the afternoon crawling in and out of it.
Which led me to my next worry -- the cats would get the lizard before we did. They love chasing insects, flies, scrap paper -- anything that moves. While I wasn't exactly a fan of the little lizard, I didn't want him to become Frankie's lunch. Or worse, Frankie's gutted play toy.
I never did see the lizard come out, and I freaked out a little bit just knowing he was lurking somewhere close by, ready to scare the wits out of me again. But my fear proved unfounded as I saw him the next morning, scurrying along the living room wall. The OUTSIDE living room wall. That's right, he made it outside safely, to the great relief of all parties concerned.
Except maybe Frankie...
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