So, I’m sitting in front of the TV, taking a little study break and enjoying the fresh ocean air that is blowing in through the open back door, when in walks Benito…
…with a lizard in his mouth.

I squeal. Now, I am not a squeal-y woman, but for a lizard in my cat’s mouth in my livingroom, I’ll make an exception.

I go to grab the cat, hoping to put cat AND lizard outside in one swift move.
Cat, of course, drops the lizard.

It’s not dead.
It is, in fact, scurrying across the livingroom floor and diving under the bar.

Oh sure, it may be only 6 inches long in reality, but it’s looking like a friggin’ iguana by this point.

I’m now screaming like a 6 year old girl. I do the dance I thought was exclusively reserved for finding a mouse scurrying across the livingroom floor. Apparently it works for other species just fine.

In a fit of utter girliness, I call my husband. He’ll save me! He’ll know what to do! He’s big and brave and from this god-forsaken state, after all. He will protect me and make me safe.

He laughs at me.
Just like when we had our first earthquake out here.
I’m still not amused.

He does know what to do, but instead of rushing here to do it, he gives me the simple 5-step plan:
1. get towel
2. get flashlight
3. find lizard (use flashlight as it will be under something)
4. pick up lizard with towel over the hand (because alligator lizards bite and I have no idea if this is an alligator lizard or something else–how the hell am I supposed to tell the difference anyway–I’m from Ohio and lizards only live in zoos and the homes of failed heavy metal musicians, fer crissake)
5. dispose of lizard outside.

I suggest shooing the lizard into a container…with a very long stick…preferably from across the room. Husband says to forget it–they see that trick and never, ever go in the container.

He asks if he should stay on the phone. I tell him I need both hands, and hang up.

I decide to try the shooing method anyway. It’s still under the bar (I did get the flashlight) and it’s perfectly lined up to be shooed into one of the boxes from our move.
It avoids the box much better than it avoided the cat.

Damn.

It’s back under the bar, but now in the back corner.

I get a damn towel.
It’s not under the bar by the time I get back, 10 seconds later.

Damn.
Much mouse-sighted-type dancing ensues.

Then I see it. Behind the speaker. Clear shot.

So I follow his steps and do indeed, with much squealing, cursing, and half-mouse-dance-steps, manage to get the thing and take it outside.

The cat is crapped out on the floor looking at me like I’m nuts.

I need a drink.