This world is so hot, sticky, and
alien. The air breaths on my neck causing my hair damp and limp to form a small knot
resting on my nape. It’s never quiet, something howls or sings in the night. Last
night I caught a tiny lizard in the house with a cup and paper, the same motion
of arachnid catching as the Midwest but for a completely different creature.
There is no equivalent to a lizard in the Midwest, they inhabit more space here
than mice, but mice might be the closest example. They are reptilian mice. Every
time I go outside they skitter from the porch by the handful. I am fascinated
by these alien creatures, these little dinosaurs. Keeping lizards is exotic
where I’m from, requiring special heat lamps and a mister to simulate humidity.
I’ve never owned one but it seemed complex visiting the lizard keepers of the
Midwest. It’s weird to think of them outside. Breathing this air. Thriving.
My cat
shares this sentiment. The other night he let out a cross between a moan and a
howl. Awwwwoooo. Awwwooooo. This was
similar enough to his car song for us to look at each other, concerned. It is
his call to the unfamiliar. We found the cat in the hall with something rubbery
and limp dangling from his mouth. Awwoooo.
Awwooo. Look at what I’ve hunted, my strange alien prize. Before we could
grab it he swallowed the lizard in his mouth.
