The Lizard Part Two (Because I Know You're All Wondering How It Ended)

If you read my last post, you know that Friday a lizard was being held captive in my kitchen. Or rather, he was holding me captive in the dining and living room... After several panicked IMs, phone and Facebook messages, and tweets, I was able to get my mom on her cell and have her coach me through what I should do to capture this little critter. This was, of course, after she laughed hysterically at me for several minutes.

Let the record show that when my mom was a kid, she was known throughout her neighborhood for using a shovel to cut the heads off of horned toads. She says it's because they were gross and would spit blood on you. I think it was really just her own thirst for blood and carnage... Don't mess with Mama Hetherington. She'll getcha.

Anyway, she suggested that I slide a yardstick under the fridge (very slowly) to try to gently prod Mr. Lizard back into the daylight.

Of course when I tried this, the yardstick was too thick.

So I decided to pull the front plastic grate off the fridge to see if that helped. It more than helped—it revealed Senor Scales sitting right on the other side. I immediately thought of Janice's post about meditating the rats out of her Parisian apartment, and decided to use the power of positive energy and a soft speaking voice to try to turn the situation in my favor. I explained to the lizard that I was on his team; I just wanted to help him get back outside where he belonged.

I kept talking to him the entire time I nudged him with the yardstick. "Come on little friend, lets just get you into the box so you can go see your family and not jump onto my face."

It may have been the soft tenor of my voice or the scent of reptile in the air, but of course both cats came to see what was going on in the kitchen. Knowing the little one wouldn't be smart enough to walk around to the other door, I closed the pocket door in her face. The fat cat came in and laid down on the rug, where I knew he would stay until I was finished. Chasing lizards is far too much work for him.

 

Eventually Mr. Lizard scurried out from the side where he'd entered and I was able to trick him into walking onto my dustpan. Then I slid the dustpan into a small box and tipped the box over so he fell in.

My toes were curled the entire time.

Too chicken to pick up the box with my bare hand, I slid the dustpan under it and carried him out to the back lawn where I gently tipped him onto the grass. He went on his merry way, back to his lizard family, boasting tales of black and white tile and stainless steel appliances.

 

I went in the house and collapsed on the couch. At least now I know what to do if he ever returns.