Well, in my house, he's delicious.
Yep. My house is the house where geckos go to die. Actually, my house is the house where geckos go to live in terror and confusion before suffering a slow and agonizing demise at the hands of the feline population. I live with three terrorists. Gecko terrorists.
I feel so bad for the little dudes. With the weather getting colder, I think they're trying to sneak in to find a nice warm crack in the stucco in which to hide out.
What they're really walking into is Thunder Dome.
I have 3 cats. None of them get along. Tolerance is forced, at best -- until a gecko is spotted. Then, my living room floor turns into some sort of Gecko Air Hockey. A lizard slapshot travels with a great deal of force when at the paws of a criminal mastermind.
I came home tonight, after a long day at school, to a massacre. Two tiny geckos lay deathly still next to the couch (I like to think that they were young geckos in love -- the Romeo and Juliet of the Lizard Kingdom). I had just covered their little bodies with a paper towel to show a little respect (and to distract the cats; they don't have the greatest short-term memories) when suddenly those little lizards sprang to life and took off for the door!
Those lizards played possum! It scared the bejeezus out of me, causing me to scream. That, in turn, scared the bejeezus out of the cats, who scrambled for a safe hiding spot. And that led to the Great Gecko Escape of 2013.
Fare thee well, Romeo and Juliet! I hope you learned your dang lesson. I certainly learned mine. It's every woman/gecko for herself here in Thunder Dome.