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Fauna (Ensconced)
I was forced out into the CACCC¹ in search of Pik-chur Hangers. I
knew exactly where they were thanks to a forced cleaning spree by SWMBO³. I was bare-footed since my allotted assignment today entailed "vacuuming." As this is part of my castle is my Se Mettre à l'Abri par le Garçon, my Sanctuary Of Manliness, I'd never thought to be sharing it with anyone -- or anything -- save my tools and more clutter. It is mine! I stepped out onto the landing and jumped up and off -- to hear an agitated hiss from the cement floor where I was planning to land. I said a naughty word -- loudly. On my trip down, I pinpointed the source quickly enough. My friend, George³, from our backyard had been warming himself by the venting area of our garage fridge. That I'd dared interrupt his solitude was truly vexing to him. He spat at me again as I landed and straddled him. Using my continuing momentum to assist with the motion, I reached down, towards George. I had every intention of a quick capture-and-release. The door, from which I'd just come and had closed behind me, swung open and out stepped SWMBO and my three intrepid Lizard Catching Apprentices; they'd all heard my oath and were curious. (My wife was wondering if 911 would need be summoned.) It was just enough of a distraction to put my hand too close and for George to think he was larger than he really was. He lunged and bit me in the part of my hand between thumb and fore-finger. SWMBO and all three daughter-units squealed. I, true to myself, said two naughty words. George retained his grip, I jerked my hand away, his jaws locking into place like a pair of Vicegrips®. This, while not to the original plan, allowed me nab him. It was too easy. A quick massage of George's jaw and he was wriggling like a worm. He soon gave up and went back to hissing (and trying to bite me). I took a few seconds to examine my hand. There was a perfect impression (top and bottom) of where George had hung. SWMBO pushed my three apprentices back into the house, and, much to my annoyance, reminded me that /her/ Tupperware were off-limits. As she went back into the house, she fired one more volley, "George is an outdoor pet." My heart sank. George had settled down and was flicking his tongue. I brought him up to eye-level and looked him over. His beautiful brick-brown scales highlighted the onyx speckles. I pushed the button that opens the CACCC-door. The shaft ground through its gears and slowly cranked the portcullis open. As light flooded the shadowed interior, I saw my neighbors' daughter-units were out front entertaining a friend. A Thought took hold. "Sam? Kim? Wanna see an alligator lizard? Yes, your friend can come over, too." And for the next twenty minutes, George behaved himself as the 13 yo, and two 8 yo, looked at him, petted him, and even held him. Real Life® was going swell and the four of us were discussing the feeding habits of local lizards when George decided that class was dismissed. He launched himself out of Sam's hands and onto my lap. A quick nab netted me lots of nylon but no lizard. George sprinted back towards my CACCC. "Not there!" George hissed over his shoulder as he skittled into a hole in the wall. I looked at the three, they looked at me. "We won't tell SWMBO." Three heads shook in silent agreement. ¹ Catch-All-Clutter-Containment Center (aka "two-car garage") ² She Who Must Be Obeyed ³ George is our backyard resident; twelve inches of pure meanness and 'Tude. The Ranger |
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