Our first gecko died in our apartment this morning. Well, he was almost dead. Sarah had to sweep him outside. But he might’ve met his end before he got there. He was a cute little guy. About 1½ inches long, nose to tail, is all.
We first noticed him two nights ago when we had to get up and investigate the scratching noises outside our window. We think it was one of the minions of mangy cats that roam the street here and not (I know what you’re thinking) a rat. A few thumps with a broom and that was taken care of. Anyway, when we started to get back into bed at 4 a.m. we saw our little gecko buddy just watching from the wall above Sarah’s nightstand. By the way, whoever said our cats, if we brought them, might be someone’s dinner – y’all are way off. The Indonesians cannot bring themselves to kill cats here. They won’t even interfere with their procreation. There’s no way to spay or neuter dogs or cats. Bob Barker would be outraged. J.Spike and Mixy Mae are staying home for altogether different reasons. More on that later.
Geckos here are harmless. The biggest I’ve seen so far was on the street and he or she was about four inches long. They look a lot like salamanders or newts, only green and sometimes red. They’re afraid of us bule – and the Indonesians too, I guess. We were warned to shake our shoes before putting them on because these little guys might be inside. They’re actually quite cute – big excited eyes, little fingers, and awfully confused.
Our little friend must have been very confused this morning. He was on the floor right beside the bed, not moving. Sarah was going to sweep him to the balcony, when he started to move. She tried to get him outside to a better life, but then he kind of stopped moving before he got out.
So what’s to be done? Sarah went to the gym. I made a cup of coffee and put on some Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins. Those guys know some good stories about death too. Oh little gecko guy, tell St. Peter that life was good with air conditioning and people who talked nice to you.