My menagerie

Signs of springtime are all around my house. My clocks have all been set forward one hour, the azalea bushes are blooming, birds are singing, and the temperature is creeping upward. Spring has arrived. You know how I can tell? The lizards that live outside my front door when the weather is warm are trying to sneak into my apartment.

That is how I got my pet. Have I told you about him? I made a deal with the lizard that snuck into my apartment last year. I spent the first two days of his residency chasing him around my apartment with a plastic cup. I would hear something rustle from the corner, and spot this lizard climbing on the edge of a book or a picture frame or a vase. I would charge, with a big, blue plastic cup in one hand and a sales flier in the other, planning to scoop, cover, and release.

No luck. I couldn’t catch him. He was wily. I busted out my Dustbuster and threatened loudly in the general direction of the rustling. If he refused to go quietly (in a plastic cup), he could go loudly, under the roar of suction – a Dustbuster eviction.

Then I reasoned with him. He was oddly cute. I agreed to allow him to be my pet, under the condition that he never pop out unexpectedly and scare me. He is not allowed to touch me or any of my most precious possessions (read: “my pillows”) at any time. If he breaks any of my rules, he will be vacuumed.

I named him Stanley, and he lives under my couch.

Stanley is only the beginning of the menagerie that lives in and around my apartment. The lizards are plentiful, and so are the frogs. Scott and I came back to my apartment on a wet night recently to find two decent sized frogs on my front porch. I was delicately (in flip flops) trying to find the best way to unlock my door without squishing something, being jumped on, or allowing a pet friend to join Stanley under my couch. Scott (more bold probably because he was wearing sneakers) urged the frogs off my porch with the side of his foot.

I’ve seen a snake. He was black with black shiny eyes. I was coming back to the apartment for lunch on a weekday, and I was on the phone. I saw the snake – nearly 3 feet long and as big around as a quarter – laying on the top of the bushes near my apartment. I jumped and screamed (sorry person I was on the phone with). I thought it might not have been real (like one of the neighborhood kids could have left it there as a joke), so I leaned in close to examine it. It looked at me and stuck out its tongue (also black, in case you were wondering). My dad told me that it would likely stick around for a day or two to hunt, but then it would move on. Even though I haven’t seen it since that day, I am convinced that it is lurking somewhere in the bushes waiting to look at me and stick its tongue out again. He is too large to vacuum, so I can’t use the Stanley deal with this one.

Jules and I walked down to the leasing office on Friday night to pay my rent. It had been raining all evening, but the downpour had slowed to a drizzle. We were huddled under a big golf umbrella, and the parking lot was still dotted with puddles from the earlier rain. The asphalt was also dotted with earthworms. Hundreds of them, writhing on the wet ground, yards from the soil. I don't know how they got there. Did they decide (as a group) to use the downpour as an opportunity to slither from one grassy side of the lot to the other? There they were, twisting slimily across the asphalt. Juleanne and I abandoned the huddling under the umbrella, and started squealing and jumping from one worm-free section of the lot to another. I think we managed to pay the rent with minimal loss of earthworm life.

I also have a pack of wild cats that live in my neighborhood. Initially, I met the first five felines on my move-in day. Scott (a cat lover) called, “Here kitty kitty” while carrying a box into my apartment. “No,” I scolded, “Don’t let them think that they have a friend in this apartment.”

I guess it was too late, because those little guys hang out on my stoop. I see a kitty shadow fall across my window as one (or more) slinks on the shelf outside my window. I’ve heard meowing in the night, and I’ve felt kitties creeping in figure eight patterns between and around my legs while I struggle to unlock my door while carrying bags of groceries. I don’t know if it was Scott’s welcoming, “Here kitty kitty,” or if I just have one of those faces that cats can’t resist.

The most recent wildlife to enter my domestic life is my neighbor’s dog. I will admit that he is adorable. He is a mutt with some sort of pitt bull in him. He wears a spiked collar and runs rampant in the complex. I was coming home one night, trying to get into my front door carrying some bags, and I felt a much less graceful figure eight around my legs than the normal feline version. The dog was ramming his small body and spiked collar indelicately into my shins. He was excited.

Do you know what puppies do when they get excited? They pee. Do you know where excited puppy pee ends up while the puppy is doing figure eights around my legs on my stoop? On my feet. Oh yes, I was wearing flip flops.

People have told me that I should get a pet. A little cat or a dog to keep me company, but you know what I say?

I have a lizard under my couch, frogs on my porch, cats in my window, worms in my parking lot, and pee on my feet. I don’t need a pet; I have a zoo.