As soon as I felt the squish under my slipper, I knew what I had done. I was walking to turn a light on in the dark hallway when I felt it. And when I lifted my foot, there was the small lizard…or what was left of it. I couldn’t do anything but be grossed out and beg my husband to “go take care of it.” The lizard – still alive — could not live in its dismembered condition, and I was sick about it. Not that I’m particularly fond of these lizards, but I’ve always been afraid I’d step on one accidentally and feel just like I was feeling at that moment.
The past few years we’ve gotten to be a touch more sensitive to the creatures. They still stop my heart cold when I see them unexpectedly, but we now try to scoop them up and take them outside, rather than figure out a way to dispose of them for good. I suppose if I had little boys, we’d wind up collecting them as temporary pets. But I have girly girls, and they are as freaked out about them as I am.
I realize these little gekkos are harmless, but I don’t want them in my house, I don’t want them in my shower and I certainly don’t want them crawling up my bed (both of the latter two scenarios have happened). We reluctantly greet them every summer. Some years are better than others (pesticides, anyone?). This summer is probably middle ground since we’ve been here, and lizard sighting is at the very least three times a week.
But I’m from Michigan. It’s cold there for seven or eight months of the year, and lizards are never a concern, much less a fear. It’s simply not tropical territory. So I’m afraid no matter how long I live here in China, I will never get used to seeing these in my house. And one day, upon returning home, I can say without a doubt that I will not miss the lizards.
