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Lizard outside my window

Ever since I saw that Guillermo del Toro Movie, The Shape of Water — starring Sally Hawkins — about a mute, socially isolated cleaning woman who falls in love with a giant amphibian lizard man, I’ve been seeing lizards. Correction, that’s a minor lie. I saw the movie about a month ago — and truth to tell, it creeped, no, I mean, grossed me out. And not for nothing, but I consider myself a pretty open-minded character. For some reason though, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the title character, a lonely, deaf woman with two close friends and no significant other, but still attractive enough (both on the exterior and the interior) that I thought ‘Hmm???? She could do better,’ aka, ‘This is just an excuse in laziness for fucking a lizard.’

Okay, I know that sounds harsh and super judgmental and I suppose it kinda is…. To be fair though, my mom, who watched the movie with me, along with one of her friends, declared during the movie, ‘She must be pretty hard up.’ I merely laughed in the moment, but truth to tell, I had to admit that mom, in her typical blunt, non-PC way, hit the nail right on the spot. …or better said, the lizard on his dewlap.

Now I get the whole ‘Beauty and the Beast’ concept of loving the inner being and connecting with a soul that connects with your soul. I mean, that’s a universal concept and the apex of authentic love. So….. I GET IT!

But still, the human-lizard love angle just wasn’t cutting it for me. Nope, nada, no way, no can do.

Funny then, how since that time I’ve come to see that there’s a giant lizard, an iguana no less, living in the thick-leafed silk moss tree a mere several feet from my balcony.

The saving grace is, my balcony is enclosed, so, if said lizard chose to jump, he’d probably hit a mesh and go splitter splattering down the wall. That does offer me a little consolation and I confess, I relish the idea more than is decent.

(And yes, I looked it up. Iguanas can jump rather far. Well, to be precise, they can fall pretty far and still be okay, which to me translates to jump. Research says these pesky dinosaur remnants, when pursued, have been known to fall from as high up as 40 feet and land safely. Picture them running up on their little hind legs resembling iguana-looking humans scrambling for their lives. Yeeesh! The thought, the image, disgusts me and just plain creeps me out. I see the soft side of iguana underbelly, a pale pristine green edging into yellow as the iguana runs without looking back.)

Anyway, back to what this is about. Since that first sighting I’ve seen the iguana more times than I’d like. And each time it’s a surprise. I’ll be mid-sentence of my book reading and glance up from the page, only to glimpse what at first looks exactly like one of the thousands of other leaves on the tree outside my window, but something will make me look twice. And it’s not like the iguana will have moved but somehow I’ll look again and there it will be, an iguana lazing in my tree.

The first time I saw it I had to admit I was stunned and grateful for my enclosed balcony. Stunned also because I’m four floors up and I wondered what in the heck was an iguana doing this far up a tree. But I’ve come to find out that iguanas go to all sorts of lengths to find domiciles they consider comfortable and safe from would be predators; kind of like me.

I mean, I chose to live in a condo four floors above ground level because I have a morbid fear of being awakened mid night to find some predator hanging over me having gotten in through the back or front door of my ground floor home. So, in that sense I can relate. And first-hand experience has shown me that iguanas can take up residence in a 50-foot tree. Each day I find I learn more and more in lizard lore.

But back to the lizard. Shortly after spying the iguana I began to find that each day I would glance outside my window trying to see if I could spot the iguana lounging in the tree or possibly even looking at me.

On some days I was lucky, on others less so. It’s not easy to spot an iguana living in a tree. Iguanas, like many amphibians, but even more than most, are excellent at camouflage, and as good as Cardi B is at twerking, an iguana is equally adept at blending into a tree.

On occasion though, I did spot it. Its long lizard body serpentine taut and still. Its dewlap sometimes distended, at others not. Its 18-inch tail looking like a thick spiky dried out tree branch.

When I did spot it, I confess to a giddy elation. Imagine how good I’d gotten at spotting this camouflage master. I gave myself a pat on the back, sometimes three. My eyesight, which in the past I’ve blasted, was pretty damned acute.

Other times though, I was just plain disgusted to be sure. What the hell was the lizard doing in my tree, when had it first gotten there, and when was it planning to move out? Imagine, I thought, what if one day when I was walking about the back yard, it had fallen on me. Eegads! That would have been the scream heard around the world. Luckily that had not happened.

But here I was, left with a lizard who was doing I do not know what in my tree and — although I knew this was pure nonsense, paranoia and quite probably straight-up narcissism — possibly spying on or merely watching me.

It’s hard to tell if a lizard is looking at you. Believe me I’ve looked at this lizard, watching him from behind my closed window, off to the side, never straight on, not so’s he can tell I’m looking at him. I mean, I wouldn’t want to lock eyes with him and, besides, I can never tell at what it is that he is looking.

Imagine my surprise when one day I looked up from my work to see, not just one Iguana but two iguanas copulating in my tree.

I freaked. But then I looked closer. Thought one came to mind, ‘Are those two iguanas boinking?’ Thought two: Are those two iguanas boinking in my tree?’ Thought three: ‘Why in the hell in my tree?’ Why outside my bedroom window in my tree?’ The commonly held cry of ‘Not in my community,’ rose to the fore. Thought four (there were a litany of questions that sprang to mind): ‘Is there a nest of iguanas living in my tree? How many more could there possibly be? Is there an infestation of iguanas living in my tree and what sort of a threat does that pose to me.’ Yes, I’d started to sound rather Seuss-like, but in line with my hysteria, though not harkening back to pre-kindergarten days, it was unavoidable.

Immediately, of course, I closed the glass doors leading to my balcony. You see, my balcony’s a wraparound and though a significant part is enclosed, the sections leading to the bedrooms, which are on either side of the apartment, are unenclosed. So, in theory, an iguana, like an agile wall-climbing, distance jumping predator, could jump the five or ten feet onto the balustrade, slither onto the balcony and from there, well, you know the rest, where would we be?

I could possibly wake up, or if I was already awake, and in another room, walk back in to find a leaping three-foot iguana looking back at me.

But back to the iguanas copulating in my tree. The bigger iguana looked older by far. Its green was darker, duller and parts of it looked almost grey. It had a very large and bulging belly, which was surprising; almost like it was pregnant or maybe obese. I’d never seen an obese iguana before. It had a flappy dewlap which was a dull mousy color, and the spikes on its head and the parts of its back that weren’t being humped by the other iguana and which I could see, were also a rather dull dried branchy-looking color.

The aggressor iguana was considerably smaller than the first. Which was surprising as well. Its color was green, as in livid green. And its back was covered in spikes which had a much more vibrant color. Its dewlap was a yellow mustardy looking color.

Most interesting of all, the smaller iguana was riding the bigger iguana’s back, or so it seemed. It was like a teenager hugging on to its mother’s back. Except much more violently so. Whatever it was doing, it was on the other iguana’s back, and it had gripped the bigger iguana’s head, holding it down so that it looked like it was incapable of movement. Adding to the disturbing scene, it had latched onto the sides of the old iguana with its ugly little human-looking iguana hands.

I don’t want to go into the details because it was more than I wanted to know but I found myself thinking that I’d wondered into iguana porn and wondered why the hell these two iguanas hadn’t gotten themselves a room other than the tree outside my bedroom window; and if they had to, why couldn’t they have indulged in this early afternoon lizard love session hidden under the comfort of large privacy inducing leaves.

Things being what they were, the iguana that was leading the show refused to relinquish the bigger iguana for what seemed an interminable length of time, writhing and moving and all sorts of what not. At the sight of the persistence and aggressiveness of some of the moves I had to turn my eyes and step away from the window. I wondered if this was merely a case of consensual lizard love or if iguanas too had #MeToo moments.

I decided to Google iguana mating and here is what I found. No, I did not find out whether iguanas are capable of rape, though I imagine, why not? Quite a few males in the animal kingdom seem to take the females by force. Frankly, I don’t know enough about animal mating habits and whether those incidents could be dubbed rape or are merely status-quo mating rituals. I have to shrug my shoulders and raise my eyebrows to that.

I did learn, however, that typically the larger of the iguanas is the male and that the iguanas with dewlaps are generally male. I say generally because I didn’t see anything that said that female iguanas never have dewlaps. I looked and looked but couldn’t find anything definitive on the matter. So quite possibly they do. I learned also that sometimes there are smaller male iguanas who mimic females.

All to say, I’m now absolutely confounded as to whether I witnessed male-female iguana copulation or same-sex lizard intercourse. Yes, mind blown. Not only by the image of a smaller chihuahua-like (relatively speaking) iguana copulating with a much larger and seemingly more docile German Shepherd of an iguana, but by the whole inter-generational exchange, with the seemingly younger iguana dominating and cold-cocking the old. Hmmm.

Interesting side note, when they were finally finished with their lizard love, or possibly Harvey Weinstein moment, the smaller iguana would not let the bigger iguana leave and kept himself glued to her/his back. Then even after she/he was able to ease herself/himself out, the aggressor iguana kept one lizardy arm on her/his back. Like: ‘Na ah, you stay put!’ Or maybe it was just a case of basking in post-coital lizard love, aka spooning in the afterglow. As a mammal that likes to spoon, I can relate.

I know this is far too much iguana introspection, or perhaps preoccupation is a better word, but it is a fact that it happened and that the iguanas outside my window have begun to occupy my mind.

Christmas is here though and although I’m a vegetarian — more accurately I’m a pescatarian because I do on occasion indulge in a tiny bite of fish — I’ve decided that quite possibly I’m going to make myself an iguana salad. It is after all white meat; so it’s not exactly like I’d be straying too far from my diet.

I’ve alerted the superintendent of my building to the presence of the two frisky lizards and have told him that I believe they pose a threat. Iguanas can not only jump, but they can climb just about anything, including walls. They’re also capable of squeezing themselves through the tiniest of holes. And though I’m not proud of it, and have long planned to fix them, some of the mesh on my balcony’s enclosure do have tears.

To prevent myself from any legal mishaps I’ve looked up the law. It’s legal to kill iguanas in South Florida providing you do it humanely. According to an article by Anne Geggis in the South Florida Sun Sentinel, ‘You can shoot them with a pellet gun, stab them in the brain, even decapitate them if they don’t suffer. But don’t freeze them, drown them or poison them, or you could end up behind bars.’

Killing them inhumanely could cost you a $5000 fine, land you in jail for a year, or possibly both. So, a humane kill sounds like the plan.

Killing humanely seems fair enough, despite the annoyance they’ve given me. The bottom line is I want them gone…er, killed. It’s a more accurate and conclusive term which speaks to termination with no possibility of return.

I’ve asked the super, Eddie, to see about setting a trap and possibly laying one or two of the iguanas out. Hitting it on the head and killing it in the first stroke would be the preferable plan.

If there are more iguanas in my tree, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t want to think about it, but if there are, I’ll have to notify the Zoological Society or the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission in my town and see if they can come out.

The super, I can see it from the look in his eyes, thinks it’s a bit weird that I’m preoccupied with the iguanas in my tree, but then I explain that it’s me who has to keep looking at weird looking scaly spike backed ugly dewlapped iguanas possibly spying on me.

He, the super, shrugs. He doesn’t care. As long as I make it worth his while. I tell him he’ll have to cut the head off and scale the skin. When he has it denuded I’m certain it will look like a bird, which I believe iguanas, just like dinosaurs, are related to.

Oh yes, if you want to see what a dinosaur looks like you only need to look at the skeletal structure of a bird; that’s dinosaur 101, though the realization is a teeny tad off-putting, because if a dinosaur could become a bird, well, imagine what may happen to humans by the year 1333.

As for my salad, I believe I’ll make it with spinach, kale, flakes of almonds, red onions and white, a handful of walnuts, some craisins, tomatoes, feta cheese, carrots (ooooh, crunchy) and yes, sautéed white iguana meat.

Brunch is at 11. Feel free to drop by, but remember when entering my apartment to take off your shoes and wipe your feet.

This story was inspired by Kay Bolden’s Christmas prompt on P.S. I Love You and a lizard I saw outside my window. Don’t ask me how. Lol! If you like it, do share, recommend and/or give it a clap or two or ten or 50. Whatever you feel it deserves. There’s a max of 50 per reader, per story. Thanks for reading and for your feedback.

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