I Broke my Foot in Mortal Combat with a Killer Lizard

Last Friday afternoon I was sitting on my bed, doing nothing, when I became aware I’d had a home invasion.  The culprit scurried across my living room floor in all of his green glory and raced under my recliner.

Now, I’m not fond of sharing with outside critters, and with my active imagination, I’d already pictured him slithering up my comforter and cozying up next to me later that night while I slept.  Oh, no!  He had to go!  However, that decision did nothing to relieve my ignorance about lizard capture and/or killing, and believe me, I was highly ignorant.

But that didn’t stop me from rushing into the living room, though I braked a few cautious feet from the recliner, where the lizard, probably sensing my incompetence, stuck his head out, and I swear, licked his tongue at me.

“Oh, so it’s gonna be like that,” I thought as my gaze fell on a can of Raid, which had been very useful in drowning other outside critters, like crickets and spiders.  Just as I grabbed the Raid from its home on the landing of the stairs—a central location, a few scant feet away—the lizard poked his head out again.  I attacked!  Droplets, illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the window, fell toward my enemy, but apparently, he smelled them or something.  He jerked his head back beneath the chair before even one had a chance to reach him, but not before he had a chance to give me a smug look that reeked of satisfaction.  He and I did that dance a couple of times before it finally dawned on me that, perhaps, this was not the best plan.  And yes, his smug look accompanied each one.

So, I ran to the closet and got the broom, thinking that maybe I’d stun him, or beat him to death—I didn’t care which—and sweep him out of the door, if he ever left his home beneath the recliner.  That plan fell apart when he finished whatever he’d been doing under the recliner and headed out, racing across the floor toward my bed.  My bed!  I raised the broom and whacked and whacked and whacked.  Never touched him!  Right before he slid under my bed, he looked back and flicked his tail in an unmistakable sign of contempt.

But soon, he got too cocky and strolled out and sat in front of my nightstand.  I hit his butt with a huge stream of Raid.  He was on the run again, under the nightstand, behind my bed, along the outside wall, where I had clear aim.  I let loose more spray.  He ran, but he had no cover, and I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed until he slid under the chest of drawers.  But he was wobbly!  The Raid had worked!  I waited.  I had all three sides covered.  I had the broom, I had the Raid.

Fifteen minutes later, I was still waiting.  He’d never been still that long.  He’d always appeared, if only to taunt me.  I wondered if he was dead.  I didn’t think Raid had that kind of power, though.  Maybe he was drunk.  If so, I needed to get him out before he recuperated.  Finally getting up enough nerve, I got down on the floor and peered under the chest.  He was there, just sitting.  I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.

Had I known I’d break my foot, I might have decided on a different course of action, but with no psychic skills, I decided I’d better sweep him out.  And out he came, wobbly, but still pretty fast and straight toward me.  I launched into a bevy of terrified actions, and I’m not sure exactly what happened, but by the time I got through screaming and jumping off the floor and onto my bed, my foot had chosen the broken option.  I didn’t let that stop me, though.  I aimed more Raid his way, and when he wobbled into the living room, I hobbled right behind him.  I sprayed his behind until he was motionless, when I scooped him up in a plastic bag and threw his butt outside.

I lifted my arms in victory as I limped back into my bedroom and called my son to ferry me to urgent care, where as soon as I mentioned the word “lizard,” chuckles abounded.

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