The great thing about personal history is that everything that happens to you is relevant to your life story. Take pets, for example. They provide innumerable moments of joy and happy memories, prompting some people to devote entire chapters within their memoirs to their beloved pets.

I’m certain that my family could write several chapters about all of our pets through the years, as we have almost always had at least one pet. However, since the passing of our cockatiel a year ago and our cocker spaniel three months ago, we have been pet free. The boys are frequently asking for a new companion, of differing species depending on the week. The five-year old has asked for a fish and a frog. The eleven-year old would love another dog, but has also asked for a cat. The upcoming 4-H project involves a dozen incubated chicken eggs, but their father and I have put our foot down on keeping the eventual cute and fluffy chicks that will quickly turn into squawking, clucking, and generally annoying (and occasionally aggressive) hens and roosters (I know this from firsthand experience, but that’s another story).

Although I truly loved our beloved and now-deceased pets, I must admit that I do not miss the scattered birdseed and rogue feathers, nor do I miss the incessant and futile vacuuming required as the owner of a dog with black fur. I have actually been enjoying the pet reprieve and am not in a hurry to replace them.

It never occurred to me that perhaps an animal would make the decision to become our pet on its own. As I drew back the dining room curtains the other morning, I was startled by movement near the top of the curtain rod.  Glancing on top of the china cupboard, I was met by the intense stare of a green lizard as he sat perched on one of my son’s trophies.

Not daunted at all by my immediate order to get out of our home, he merely jumped onto the side of my son’s model rocket. Amazed that the creature had not knocked over the lightweight rocket, I grabbed my camera (see photos below). I couldn’t resist the chance to take some photos of him – after all, how often does a lizard pretend to blast off into space? He didn’t mind the photo op; in fact, I think he posed for it before meandering across the top of the cupboard. I wasn’t sure what to do. Not generally a fan of reptiles, I do think the little chameleon-like lizards native to our coastal home (Green Anole – Anolis carolinensis; they change from green to brown, depending on their surroundings) are cute. However, they’re not cute enough for me to want to hold one, and certainly not adorable enough to reside inside my home.

Of course this occurred while my children – who love to catch and play with the things – were at school. As I pondered what to do, the impudent lizard decided to go for another joy ride. He climbed onto the bed of my youngest son’s derby truck and simply stared at me. Then he climbed onto the roof of the truck, as if perhaps that would make him go faster. After taking a few more pictures, I turned to place the camera on the counter. Turning back around, I no longer saw him.

That was two days ago. I have not seen the lizard since. I hope that he managed to find a way outside and is not galavanting around different rooms in my house, proud of his new abode. I’ll keep you posted if I see him again. In the meantime, please share your own wildlife stories – I would love to hear what has happened in your household!